


The Pull

by Duarte89



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Byronic Heroes & Heroines, F/M, Loss of Limbs, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, not so bad Gregor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duarte89/pseuds/Duarte89
Summary: She needed to know about the man, not because he had made it possible to leave the city with its hateful lies and even more hateful and painful memories, but because he sounded like such a complicated person.





	1. Intrigue

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to dabble in this fandom with my fav ship. 
> 
> Don't really know where this is headed.

“We may not be a big city but don’t let that fool you,” the bubbly saleswoman said with a smile and a laugh as she showed Sansa Stark the small modest house for rent, “we have our share of excitement too.”

Sansa Stark smiled politely as she looked around the bare living room, tired beyond belief from driving for days and wanting nothing but for the woman to give her the contract that Sansa had already agreed to verbally. The woman went on to tell her the monthly amount, utilities not included, and how the landlord requested that everything and anything that she needed be handled via his representative a Mr. Bronn Hill.

At that Sansa had frowned, “Mr. Hill isn’t the landlord?” From the website, and telephone call, Sansa had assumed that the man with the jovial voice that drawled was the owner.

“Oh no,” the woman said with a laugh, her blonde hair shining in the sun as bright as her white teeth, “no. Mr. Hill works for the owner, meets the tenants, handles telephone calls, and any issue that you may have should you decide to rent the house.”

“Who is the owner then?” Sansa asked, curious to just who she was about to rent from.

The woman’s smile faltered a bit, eyes dimming but they shined brightly not even a second later, “His name is Sandor Clegane, he owns quite a bit of real estate around town. Very fair landlord.”

Sansa stared at the real estate agent, Megan Powers, and even though her reaction had been a bit odd Sansa couldn’t deny that the rent was affordable for a house this size. When she had spoken to Mr. Hill, he had somehow managed to weasel out her reason for moving to the almost remote town and had offered to reduce the rent a few hundred dollars. Of course Sansa had refused at first, no one does anything without wanting in return and certainly not a man when talking business with a single woman- but Mr. Hill had assured her that he’d write up a contract, send it to her so that she could read and show to any lawyer of her choosing. Put like that Sansa had been hard pressed to refuse. Even now, the showing of the house was almost a formality considering that the contract that Mr. Hill had sent her was going to have her name by the end of the day.

Knowing now that Mr. Hill wasn’t the owner, Sansa took in the revelation that this Mr. Clegane must have approved the changes that Mr. Hill had proposed with a quiet contemplation. But why would this man even care of her reasons of leaving the city to move out here?

In any case Sansa shook away the thought and smiled, “From what Mr. Hill had told me about this place it would seem that Mr. Clegane is a fair man. I’ll take it Ms. Powers.”

Megan Powers smile brightened further, somehow, and she pulled out the amended contract from her briefcase and a pen. “Wonderful!” Watching as the tall redhead signed her name in lovely script that reeked of high class upbringing, Megan signed and notarized before holding out the keys with her manicured hand, “I’ll send you the copies via email, Mr. Hill will take care of the payment process. Welcome to West Keep!”

Sansa smiled as she took the house keys, turning to look at her new home and breathed out a laugh, “I’m sure I’ll be happy here.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two months living in the small town of West Keep, with its rolling hills and cool breezes, and Sansa was barely getting her roots in. She had gotten work at the local library and had slowly let it out about town that she had skill with a needle and thread. Just a little extra to keep her time occupied, from her mind from wandering back to what she had left in the city.

“What do you think about this color Ms. Stark?”

Sansa blinked back into the moment and looked at the pastel lavender and smiled, “Sansa is fine,” Sansa says at the giddy woman that seems to smile from her very heart, “it’s beautiful, soft and calming Walda.”

The dark haired woman grinned as she stood in her high waist underwear and cotton bra, “I wanted to be sure before I had you make me new scrubs. The ones at the store, well,” she trailed off with a hint of a blush in her round cheeks, “they don’t quite fit me well.”

Sansa smiled at the round plump woman. Two months here and Sansa wasn’t the newcomer anymore. Walda Frey had moved into West Keep to take care of her ailing father- Walder Frey. With her medical background, she was the only one of the Old Frey’s children- which is rumored to be around near forty- that had gone to school for nursing and the only one willing to come back to care for the cankerous old man. As Sansa measured she had asked why Walda had moved back here of all places.

“I lived in the north for a while, was with a man that cared for me. He has a son, horrid man to be honest and he got hurt. Roose had asked me to care for Ramsay, and well I was so in love with Roose that I agreed.” Walda said softly as she looked past Sansa and straight into her past. “I’ve never had such a cruel patient and that’s saying something because there are some mean old people in this world especially when they’re hurt and need help.” Walda said as she shook her head with a sad smile. “It took Ramsay so long to get better, broke both his legs, his right arm, three ribs, and suffered a punctured lung.”

“Oh my god.” Sansa gasped as she leaned back to catch the woman’s eye. “What caused all that?”

For a while Walda didn’t say anything, just looked sad before she exhaled loudly, “Poor little Ramsay, he was trying to impress his father. Was experimenting with some contraption he had built back out in the shed and it broke and fell on him. Of course I didn’t know that until after months of just ignoring his insults wore _him_ down and it just spilled out of him like a dam. _‘Don’t fucking ignore me! Don’t be like him! Look at me!’_ ” Walda snarled impressively with bared teeth that Sansa instinctively flinched back. Walda gave her a shrug, “Roose always ignored his son, probably had to do with the fact that he had Ramsay out of wedlock. After almost two years of caring for Ramsay I needed to leave for my own sanity. I broke it off with Roose, the dear, but I still talk to Ramsay. He needs someone to care for him and I do, truly. He’s a mean little bastard, but he can be surprisingly funny and thoughtful once you manage to survive the landmine that’s his personality.”

Sansa thought that Ramsay didn’t deserve a friend like Walda, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. “So if you needed a break, why come back to take care of your father?”

Walda giggled, her smile firmly back in place, “After Ramsay, there is nothing that my father can say that will make me feel bad about myself ever again. One thing I am thankful for, besides being there for poor old Ramsay, is that he toughened up my skin. I am Walda, Fat Walda as my family calls me, and I am beautiful just the way I am. Besides, my father doesn’t really need help. He just doesn’t want to use the damn walker that the doctor gave him. Doesn’t like that idea that he’s old. So he shooed away everyone and let me come back home to ‘care’ for him and in return I get the whole house almost to myself and relax.”

Sansa chuckled as she wrote down the measurements and finally asked the question that had been burning at the back of her mind. “Frey House is nearly at the outskirts of West Keep, I’ve seen it when I just moved here and was driving around to get to know the town, but I noticed that there was another house farther out.” House was an understatement. It was nearly a castle by the look of it.

Walda hummed, “Oh Clegane Keep. It’s been there for hundreds and hundreds of years. The Clegane family built this town with the Frey’s, we always had Christmas dinner together until I was about ten years old?” Walda said unsure. “Don’t know why, just that one day father said that the Clegane’s had issues to sort out and we never had dinner with them again. Learned pretty quickly not to ask either.”

“Sandor Clegane is my landlord.” Sansa said her mind whirling with the whole mystery of the Clegane’s.

“Oh I remember Sandor, barely though. Tall and always hiding in dark corners. There’s three of them, but Lenora was who I always played with the most. Can’t really remember what she looks like now.” Walda said offhandedly as she pulled on her clothes.

“Sandor, Lenora…who’s the third?” Sansa asked as she packed away her supplies.

“That’d be Gregor. He’s the oldest, taller than Sandor…can’t quite remember him either. Other than he was older and we weren’t allowed to play with him.” Walda said with a shrug as she grabbed her purse and walked to the door. “You’ll call me if you need anything else?”

“Yes, thanks Walda.” Sansa said with a quirk of her lips.

“Please, thank you for making me clothes.” Walda said as a happy little tune began playing. Digging through her purse as she walked out, Sansa trailing after her, she finally grabbed it and answered with a happy ‘hello!’

Sansa watched as Walda talked with the infamous Ramsay, delving into some story about a cake that she had made with extra chocolate as she got in her car and closed the door. Sansa waved as Walda pulled out of her driveway before walking back to her house and closing the door. Sansa leaned against the door with a thoughtful expression, blue eyes staring at the far wall.

Clegane Keep. Hundreds and Hundreds of years. Three siblings, stopped having dinner with the Frey’s.

Sansa looked about her house, at the throw rugs and blankets and her soft couch and family pictures and silence. Grabbing her keys she scooped up her purse and left, locking the house and practically skipping to her car. Pulling out she didn’t let herself think just why she was heading to the library to look up a family that had blaringly made it clear that they wanted privacy.

 

* * *

 

 

Weeks later and Sansa still didn’t know anything about her landlord. Sure the Clegane’s were on old family, managing to maintain proprietorship over most of the land that they had owned way back in the day, but they didn’t really involve themselves with the town since about two generations ago. They had worked the land, at one point owning almost all of West Keep, and the Frey’s brought in commerce with the trading goods store that had expanded into a small chain of stores that made certain the Frey’s would never go hungry for many lifetimes to come. Sansa had even checked the high school yearbooks, once when the library staff was allowed on school grounds during the summer to go over the library inventory there. Not one Clegane in the books. Sansa had been disappointed but she figured that they would be homeschooled if they went as far as to stop having dinner with the Frey’s.

Now, here at home drinking tea and working with the batch of scrubs for Walda, Sansa steadily worked pushing her foot on the pedal on her sewing machine when suddenly the power went out. The whirring of her machine stopped abruptly, the fabric bunching up in a way that had Sansa cursing loudly in the dark. Grabbing her phone she turned on the flash light and slowly untangled the cloth before calling Mr. Hill.

“Hello, Mr. Hill? Sorry for disturbing you so late, but the power went out.” Sansa said as she walked to the front window. “Yes it’s just me I think, I see the other houses with power.” Nodding she mumbled a thank-you and waited for him to come by.

Not long after a knock rang out in the now candlelit living room. Sansa grabbed her metal bat and walked to the door, peeking through the peephole. The sun tanned face of Mr. Hill with his bright blue eyes had Sansa relaxing. Opening the door, Sansa smiled, “Mr. Hill thank you for coming.”

“Not a problem.” He said with a half grin and walked straight to her breaker box. “Now let’s see what we got.” After flipping the switches and seeing nothing happen Mr. Hill sighed and pulled out is phone. “Sandor, we need an electrician out on Seventh Street. Yeah I did all that, still lights out. She’s got some candles lit. You know he only gets up if you call him, yeah…I’ll wait here.” Hanging up Bronn turned to give the tall redhead a grin, “Thought maybe a breaker was out but I don’t see any rust. Don’t worry, Mr. Clegane is calling the electrician to come out now and get you sorted.”

Sansa had dug her teeth into her cheek to stop herself from snatching the phone from the man when she realized he was speaking to Sandor Clegane. Instead she sat on her couch, like a normal person, and waited almost thirty minutes in small talk until a knock at the door grabbed their attention. Sansa watched as Mr. Hill opened the door to let in a muscular young man with blue eyes that were brighter and bluer than Mr. Hills.

“Gendry,” Mr. Hill said before he introduced her, “this is Sansa Stark. Now how about you go on and get her power back on eh?”

Gendry gave her a nod and a sweet half grin, “Ma’am.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile back and before she knew it her lights came back on, “Oh thank you!”

Gendry shrugged, “No problem. Bronn, might want to tell Sandor that the next time he needs an inspection to call me and not Mott.”

Mr. Hill, or Bronn, shrugged, “You try telling the stubborn son of a,” here Bronn cleared his throat and winked at her, “I’ll be sure to tell him. Now come on, we‘ve taken up enough of Ms. Starks time. Ms. Stark, have a good night.”

Sansa stood and shook their hands, almost having to fight with Gendry to clasp his hand and couldn’t help but say, “No, thank you. Please tell Mr. Clegane thank you for getting Gendry here so fast, I appreciate it.” Sansa didn’t miss the little look the two men shared but she kept her mouth shut for fear that they’d clamp up and not say anything about the mysterious Sandor Clegane.

“I’ll let him know.” Bronn said with a slow smile, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Gendry nodded and paused once he caught sight of the sewing machine and the pile of fabric. “You a seamstress?”

Sansa smiled, “Yes.”

Gendry nodded as he walked to the door, Bronn ahead of him looking back curiously. “Could I,” he said with an awkward shuffle, “maybe get a business card or…”

Sansa waited for him to finish speaking but it seemed that that was all that was coming out of his mouth. Smiling she rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a butterfly decorated sticky note and scribbled out her phone number. Coming back she handed him the contact number. “No business card yet, but here’s my cell phone number. Text or call its fine and we’ll set up a time and day okay?’

Gendry took it with a smile that made Sansa want to squeeze his cheeks. “Thank you, night.”

Sansa closed her door and stared into the peephole and watched as the two men spoke a bit before heading into their own cars and driving away. Somehow Sansa was going to get more information on Sandor, even if it meant politely interrogating Gendry.

 

* * *

 

 

Plans for getting the information on Sandor hit a snag. Sansa watched as one day turned three, three turn into two weeks, and two weeks turn into two months before Gendry called her. Or texted her.

**Hello Ms. Stark, it’s Gendry.**

Sansa forgot to breathe she was so excited before she took a deep breath, looked around the Information Desk to see if anyone was nearby. Seeing no one, Irma in the back doing inventory, Sansa grabbed her phone and quickly unlocked the screen.

**Hi Gendry! How are you?**

Sansa bit her lip and wondered if it was too much excitement on her part. She didn’t want Gendry to think she was interested in him, not to say that he wasn’t a looker but Sansa’s interest was purely in the figuring out the mystery that was Sandor Clegane.

**I’m fine.**

**Was hoping that you could help me with some work clothes. Got bit torn up, but don’t want to throw them out.**

Sansa nodded as she quickly texted back.

**Not a problem! Just tell me when you’re free and we’ll work out a date that works for both of us.**

The reply came quickly.

**I have Saturday evening free, that alright?**

**Six?**

**Seven?**

**Seven on Saturday is good. See you then!**

Sansa waited for a reply but after two minutes she put her phone down and let a victorious grin out.

“What are you smiling about?” Irma said somewhat shrilly from behind her.

Sansa jumped in surprise before turning to look at her co-worker, “Just thinking about what I’m going to make for dinner tonight.”

Irma raised a brow and made a snobby sniffing sound before walking back to the inventory, “Sure.”

Ignoring her Sansa waited a few seconds but smiling again. Soon, she’d have the answers and finally let her curiosity be satisfied.

 

* * *

 

 

Saturday came and Sansa calmly went about her day. She cleaned her house, not that it was dirty but she was going to have a client over, did laundry that she had piled up for almost three weeks, and went to the grocery store. She did _not_ spend more time than necessary staring at the meats wondering if she should try to bribe Gendry with food to make him spill what he knows.

No, absolutely not because only crazy people did that.

By the time seven came rolling around Sansa was making sure that she had her tape measure and pins when someone knocked on the door. Skipping to it Sansa took a breath and opened it. “Hello Gendry, please come in.”

Gendry walked in, a bag in his hand and mumbled a hello.

Sansa withheld the sigh at seeing how quiet Gendry was. She doubted that he would have even accepted to eat with her at the rate he was going, head turned away from here and eyes roving round her living room- pointedly away from her. Either way Sansa asked what he needed watching as he turned to look at her with those startlingly blue eyes, as if he had forgotten that she as here. Soon the bag was being opened to show a bundle of work shirts with tears, pants that needed mending, and some clothes that needed to be pulled in to fit him.

Holding up a shirt that seemed almost larger than life Sansa couldn’t help the shocked look on her face, “You’ve lost a lot weight.” Although as soon as she said it Sansa noticed just how long the shirt sleeves were. Either Gendry had lost a lot of weight _and_ shrunk, or these weren’t his clothes.

Gendry rubbed his neck as he mumbled something to the floor.

Sansa still staring at the shirt, noticing its good quality as she rubbed her fingertips against it, hummed and turned to look at him, “What?”

“I said,” Gendry said louder, “it’s not mine. It’s Mr. Clegane’s. He let me have them.” Gendry said with a defiant look, as if daring her to make something out of the fact that he was given clothes.

Sansa didn’t care about how he got the clothes. Now that she knew that the mysterious Sandor Clegane had worn these clothes, she tightened her grip on the shirt, “Mr. Sandor Clegane must be a very tall man then?”

Gendry nodded as he pulled out more clothes, “Yeah. I reckon he’s about what, six foot six? His brother’s taller but...yeah.” Here Gendry stilled and awkwardly trailed off.

Sansa hummed lightly, staring at the shirt. “This is great fabric, does Mr. Clegane work outside?”

Gendry shrugged, “Sometimes. I usually do it though, he’s very busy.”

“Is he? He has other work? Besides being a landlord?” Sansa asked without looking at him, hoping he’d answer.

Gendry didn’t say anything for a long moment before he turned and stared at her hard enough that Sansa had no other choice but to look at him. “Why are you so curious about what Mr. Clegane does or does not do?”

Sansa bit into her cheek before she answered, “Never met him. I rent from him and I suppose I just wanted to know who I’m renting from.” Sansa didn’t know why she felt nervous, it was the truth. She did want to know who she was renting from.

“He’s a good man if that’s what you’re worried about.” Gendry said with finality.

Sansa smiled, not feeling an ounce of it reach her eyes as she gestured Gendry to stand in the middle of her living room. “Let’s get your measures and then if you can try on the clothes so we can get an idea of just how pulled in you want them.”

The rest of the night was spent talking about safe small talk, nothing even relating to Sandor Clegane and by the time Gendry left Sansa was left more determined than ever to get answers.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Oh Sansa,” Walda cried out with a happy cheer, “these are perfect!”

Sansa couldn’t help but grin and laugh at how Walda twirled in front of the floor length mirror in her bathroom. The pale lavender scrub fitting her body in a way that doesn’t stretch the fabric and actually show cases the hard earned muscle under Walda’s softness that the nurse has. It took Sansa a while but Walda now has a complete set of twelve new scrubs in varying shades of pastels.

“You’re a miracle worker.” Walda tells her with a soft laugh and a twinkle in her soft brown eyes. “Just in time too.”

Sansa is looking over the scrubs, making sure that no thread is out and that everything is right, when she frowns in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“I got a job.” Walda says as squats down to test the durability and give in the fabric.

Sansa feels her stomach tighten with anxiety. Walda has become her friend in this new town- a true friend unlike any other that she’s had thus far. Margaery didn’t count, seeing as how the Tyrell girl had used Sansa and had stolen Sansa’s fiancé- but that’s all in the past. It has to stay in the past, Sansa worked too hard to leave it there and make a new life for herself for it to come and hurt her now. For Walda to go, yes it would sadden her but she’s used to gritting through unsavory things in life.

Sansa bites her cheek and hums, “When do you leave?”

Walda half crouches and stares up at her, “Leave? Oh! No!” Walda straightens out and laughs, “I’m staying here. Got a job with the Clegane’s if you can believe it. Didn’t even know that that happened to them, makes sense though considering that they all but retreated within Clegane Keep and don’t let anyone in. Poor dears.” Walda said with a pout before glancing at Sansa. “Anyway I start Monday, and all I have to say is that thank god that I survived Ramsay. By the way Sandor was talking I’m going to need all the fortitude that I have to survive Gregor.”

Sansa can’t breathe as she watched Walda turn to look at her butt from over her shoulder, casually unloading a golden opportunity into Sansa’s hands. Licking her lips, Sansa steadies herself. “Congratulations!” Sansa says with a true smile, because she’s glad for Walda seeing how happy the other woman is at this employment.

“Thanks Sansa, truth be told I was getting a bit of cabin fever with just my dad and that great big empty house. I mean Kitty’s there, my step-mother-my very _young_ stepmother who’s heavily pregnant mind you- but she stays in her wing of the house.” Walda says with raised brows and a slight pursing of her lips.

“So what they say about the Frey’s is true then.” Sansa says with a teasing grin.

Walda gasps scandalously, “Why Sansa I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about! Surely it can’t be about the twenty brothers that I have, or the eighteen sisters- not including me- or the new sibling on the way.”

“Jesus, that’s a lot of Frey’s Walda.” Sansa says with awe. “Your father is very…fertile.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I have about half a dozen step-mothers, and probably more illegitimate siblings that dad has working at the house than I know what to do with. Dad prefers to keep outsiders out, much like the Clegane’s, but not to that extremity.” Walda says with a sigh.

“How did you even get the job? I thought you had come for a break?” Sansa asked with practiced indifference colored with just a hint of curiosity.

Walda sighs again, worrying her lip before cursing and giving Sansa a half-grin. “I’m supposed to keep it hush-hush,” here Walda rolls her eyes, “but you’re my friend and I need _someone_ to talk to besides Ramsay who usually goes on and on about his Dungeons and Dragons conquests.”

Sansa smiles, “You can trust me. I don’t have many friends but I count you as one.” Reaching out Sansa grabs Walda’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

Walda grins, squeezing right back. “Well I was at the house, waiting for my cupcakes to finish baking when the phone rings- but it wasn’t the cell phone it was the _landline_.” Here Walda gives Sansa a pointed look.

Sansa doesn’t overly react since she also has a landline, although she rarely uses it. Mostly for when anyone at work that needs to reach her. Only her family, Mr. Hill, Gendry and Walda have her cell phone number. Sansa makes an inquiring noise to prompt Walda, seeing how the other woman is busy smoothing down the fabric that doesn’t strain against her stomach.

Walda looks at her, brown eyes smiling as her hands rest on her stomach, “So James gets it, who I’m almost hundred percent sure is my brother that my father had with the housekeeper but anyways, he answers it and brings the phone into the kitchen and says it’s for me. That a Mr. Sandor Clegane is calling. I swear my jaw hit the ground because I hadn’t heard from Sandor in forever so it must be important for him to actually pick up the phone and not go through Bronn to get a hold of someone. Although that Bronn sure is a wicked one, wouldn’t mind him calling me if you _know_ what I _mean_.”

“ _Walda Frey_!” Sansa says with a loud laugh and a toothy grin.

“What! Don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed that he looks like he knows how to work that silver tongue of his in the bedroom.” Walda says with her hands planted on her round hips.

Sansa blushes, remembering him winking at her, and clears her throat. “I’m not blind but he seems too…too…”

“Wild?” Walda says with a smirk.

“Casual.” Sansa settles for. “Anyway, moving on from Mr. Hill’s silver tongue what did Mr. Clegane say?”

Walda snickers before she gets herself under control. “So Sandor gets on the phone and the second he starts all these memories come flooding back in. Sure his voice is much, _much_ , deeper and I’m sure that he’s changed but he still has a damn mouth on him. I remember that clearly enough of him.” Walda says with a fond grin at the memories. “So he says that he needs a nurse, preferably long –term and that he’ll pay double my usual rate as long as I get my ass over to his house first thing Monday morning.”

Sansa finds herself riveted but also wanting to shake Walda until she tells her everything about her mysterious landlord. “Isn’t very nice is he?”

“Sandor?” Walda laughs heartily. “No he isn’t but a more good man you can’t find. He’s, well, he’s like a junkyard dog. All bark _and_ bite, but so loyal and good once you get past all the crap that comes out his mouth.” Walda says with a warm smile. “So he says that he’ll pay me double and that gets me curious because my services aren’t cheap. Apparently,” here Walda freezes and looks around even though it’s just the two of them in Sansa’s earth toned decorated bathroom, Sansa awkwardly closes the door enclosing the two women in the bathroom and shuffles in closer, “apparently, his brother had an accident about a year ago when he got out and came home. Sandor’s been burning through nursing aides like candles since then.” Walda whispered.

Sansa raises her brows. “Gregor? Oh my god is he okay?” Sansa takes a moment and inches closer, “Got out from where?”

Walda bites her lip, “You have to swear that what I tell you doesn’t leave this room.”

Sansa nods and places a hand over her heart, “I swear to you Walda, I won’t breathe a word to no one.”

Walda gives her a severe somber look before sitting on the tub and hauling Sansa down to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Remember when I told you that the Clegane’s stopped having Christmas dinner with us?” Seeing Sansa nod Walda goes on, “Apparently Gregor had another fit. The first one caused an accident with Sandor that Mr. Clegane, the father, had paid money to hush up. The second one involved Lenora and this time there was no way that Mrs. Clegane was going to let it be hushed up. She had cancer, stage four the poor dear, but that didn’t stop her. Now I learned this after from my father when I told him that Sandor had called. Gregor has manic episodes. He’s usually calm and quiet, but suddenly _something_ happens and he gets manic, sees hallucinations and even gets violent. My father says that Mr. Clegane didn’t want anyone to even say that there was something wrong with his first born- even after what happened with Sandor- but when Lenora got hurt Mrs. Clegane put her foot down. Dad says that they sent Gregor, already a teenager, to an institution to get the care he needed and that he had been doing alright. He was good for a while until the housekeeper at the Keep, Old Ferna, realized that he hadn’t been taken his medication for a few days. By the time she told Mr. Clegane it was too late. Gregor got into a fight in a bar and was charged with involuntary manslaughter. He got jumped by a group of guys, took a knife to the shoulder before Gregor ended up beating a man to death.”

Sansa gasped in horror, “Oh my god.”

“I know.” Walda whispers back with wide eyes and a shaky breath. “I can hardly believe it myself, but it makes sense. Those men shouldn’t have provoked or hurt Gregor, but Gregor should have taken his medication knowing that he needed it. Dad says he was sentenced to prison for two years but got out early on good behavior. He had just came back to West Keep, or so my dad says, when he went out on the grounds and fell. There’s a steep mini ravine further out; Gregor must have been walking to close when the land gave way and fell. It was hours before he was found.” Walda swallowed with a grave saddened look on her face. “They had to amputate from just below his knee down. A man that strong and he now has to learn how to walk with one working leg. Now Sandor says that the only reason he came back was for Lenora, but I know that deep down he also came back to take care of Gregor. But even with his medication Sandor says that Gregor is, and I quote, ‘a fucking nuisance that I’m just about to fucking dump his whining giant ass outside and fuck all the rest’. So once I heard all of what happened I called him back and said that I accept.”

“That’s…wow. I can’t even imagine.” Sansa said, having almost all her questions answered that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“It’s hard for a family member to care for another, especially with no medical training and with the amount of bitterness that Sandor has for his brother, manic episodes or not.” Walda says with a sad smile.

“But what did Gregor to do Sandor to make him bitter as you say?” Sansa can’t help but ask the other woman.

Walda tensed, eyes narrowing and lips pursing. “Gregor…he didn’t do it _on_ purpose. I don’t know the full story. All I know is one day Sandor was fine and the next he was hospitalized and needed skin grafts for his face. I saw him months later, when they healed and well to my childhood self he looked scary. Didn’t think until now how much my reaction must have hurt him.” Walda says with a bright sheen to her eyes.

Sansa knew that she was making a horrified expression, but she couldn’t even imagine what Gregor could have done in a manic episode to cause for Sandor to get skin grafts at such a young age. She was almost terrified to ask what Gregor did to Lenora before his mother finally forced his father to send him to get professional help.

“I’m going to see him Monday, I’ve grown since then. Seen a lot, a couple of old scars won’t scare me. It’s Gregor I’m worried about. Even with his medication, the loss of a limb makes a person fall into a whirling pit of depression and impotence, and for someone of Gregor’s size it must be worse.” Walda mused as she sat on the edge of the tub, fidgeting with her hands.

“Gendry says Sandor is six foot six, Gregor’s taller?” Sansa asked with shock and disbelief.

“Always knew that Sandor was going to be tall, twelve years old and already taller than some of my older brothers. Last I saw Gregor, he was fourteen and almost the size of a full grown man. The Clegane’s always grew tall. Lenora was eight last I saw her and taller than me, and I’m two years older than her.” Walda said with a faraway look.

“You want me to go with you? Probably get his pants and adjust them?” Sansa offered weakly.

Walda smiled, “That’s nice but no. I have to go alone, at least at first. Sandor sounds like a prickly pickle, probably clam up tighter than a virgin’s cooch if I show up with you.”

“ _Walda_!” Sansa shrilled with shock, fighting the smile that wanted to come out.

Walda burst out laughing, lightening the mood in the bathroom and went on to tell her all sorts of curses words and phrases that Ramsay was teaching her.

 

* * *

 

 

She hasn’t heard from Walda for almost two weeks. Understandable, she has a new patient who has gone through the trauma of a losing a limb and needs every bit of Walda’s attention. Sansa lays back on her couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles atop her coffee table, and slowly twirls her wine glass. The dark red of the wine swirls against the clear crystal, still tasting the tart taste of it bursting on her tongue before she takes another sip. Wine bottle, topper off, on the coffee table beside a plate of cheese, illuminated by the bright glow of her TV. In her other hand holds the remote control, her slim pale fingers mindlessly flicking through the shows that Netflix has while thinking on the bombshell of information that Walda trusted her with.

The mystery is gone, Sansa knows more than she wagers most people on this earth know about Sandor Clegane. Sansa suspects that she knows more than Mr. Clegane _would_ like for her to know. There’s a reason after all why he uses Bronn to conduct his business, like some weird fiduciary relationship.

So, if the mystery is gone why does she feel so unsatisfied?

Sansa takes a longer drink, this being her third glass, and slowly swallows the wine before selecting an independent film about a rugged cowboy and a foreign woman on vacation that leaves her abusive husband. At the opening credits Sansa leans all the way into the cushions and sighs as the film flashes before her, drowning her slumped position in shades of blue, black and white.

Sansa finishes her glass slowly, babysitting it, and when she goes to refill it she brings the plate of cheese with her. Movie’s halfway done, the rugged cowboy hurling abuse to the foreign blond woman who just takes it with refined silence and leaves because she’s not taking any more shit from no one.

Sansa raises her glass to the female protagonist, for not taking anyone’s shit anymore but also not turning into a bitter mess of a person. It had taken Sansa years to find the courage, the strength to stop taking abuse- mental and emotional- but it wasn’t until it turned into physical that she stood her ground and bit back. Just remembering has Sansa chugging her wine just a bit faster, eyes glued to the screen as the woman leaves and makes a whole new life for herself. That’s what Sansa had done. Picked up her roots and left the toxicity that was her old life. She didn’t care anymore for appearances, she didn’t care that she was leaving almost all her family, her ‘friends’, her job- Sansa just didn’t care anymore. And here she was now, living in a small two bedroom two bathroom house in a small quaint town with a genuine friend and nice people.

It was amazing.

Finishing the wine, feeling it warm her blood and making her limbs loose and her grins goofy, Sansa leans to the side, her long legs draping on the couch and head cushioned on the arm rest, and barely registers that her phone is ringing. Reaching for it, feeling warm and slow and knowing that she’s tipsy and maybe flirting with being flat out drunk, Sansa squints at the bright screen and sees that she has a text message. Staring at it for a half a minute she finally recognizes the name as Walda and unlocks her phone.

**Hi Sansa! So I mentioned about my new job right, and boy do I have to tell YOU about it, and remembered that you offered to mend some pants. I told Sandor and after a week of hearing him bitch and moan he finally relented.**

Another chirp and Sansa greedily reads on.

**So I told him that I would ask you to see if you could come by the Keep to take measurements. I swore that you’re discreet, that I trust you not to gossip about them and that you’re amazing with a needle and thread.**

**So how about it?**

Sansa stares at the text message, looks up to see that the female protagonist is back with the rugged cowboy, soothing him and does answers back after double checking her grammar.

**Of course! I’d be happy to help. When can I come by?**

Not even a ten seconds and Walda answers back.

**Tomorrow at noon? I know it’s Sunday but if you can?**

Sansa’s fingers tap the screen.

**Tomorrow at noon is great! Send me the address so I can gps it?**

**No problem. See you tomorrow! Thank you so much, I’ll let Sandor know!**

Sansa doesn’t bother replying, just throws a fist in the air as the movie ends and laughs into the moment of darkness that falls on her when Netflix loads back to the main screen. With wine warm blood Sansa picks another movie and smiles until she falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Make a left in five hundred feet.”_

Sansa clenched onto the steering wheel and she flicked on her turning signal, regardless of the fact that there was no one else on the road but her. Turning, she drives just a bit under the speed limit and lets out a sigh when she sees the side of Frey House and knows that she’s close.

Staring at the green hills, the blue sky, Sansa breathes steadily when suddenly Clegane Keep springs forward between the hills. The Keep has an old but resilient looking stone wall surrounding it with four towers rising high above. Sansa sees the gothic architecture and can’t help but think of how romantic it looks. Like something about of a time period film, where knights roamed the land and fought with and for honor. Chuckling to herself Sansa shakes her head free of silly thoughts once she catches sight of Walda’s car, a little thing compared to the massive trucks parked beside it. Sansa can see the entrance gate, and the little girl in her nearly squeals at how pretty it looks, and wonders what she’ll find inside.

Parking her car next to a huge black truck, Sansa turns off her engine and gets out. She doesn’t waste time, opening the back door and gathering her sewing supplies, before she’s locking her car and making way to the entrance. Her heart is beating fast, adrenaline flowing through her veins as she tries to desperately remain nonchalant as she steps towards Clegane Keep.

“Sansa!” Walda calls out, arm waving wildly and her pastel blue scrubs bright against the old stone wall. Sansa can’t help but smile at the startling sight of how modern Walda and the cars look next to the ancient Keep.

“Walda!” Sansa says with a grin, her long legs reaching the plump woman within seconds. Reaching down Sansa hugs Walda tight before straightening out. “So, what do I need to know not to say to avoid upsetting your client?”

Walda snorts, dark circles under her eyes showing how little sleep she was getting. “Gregor is a nightmare. Not worse than Ramsay, but he’s up there. Terrible attitude and just awful, but the poor thing did lose most of his leg so I can’t hold it against him too much.”

Sansa licked her lips nervously, “Well, um…so just keep quiet then?”

Walda glances at the tall redhead and grins in apology. “Sorry, I’m just cranky. Time of the month _and_ with Gregor’s nagging _and_ Sandor’s whole gloom and doom attitude, well even I have trouble smiling through it. I so wish that Lenora were here but she’s off in the city, taking care of some business.”

“I am sorry that you’re having such a rough go at it.” Sansa says gently while nudging Walda with her shoulder.

“Oh it’s alright, just feeling sorry for myself. I’ll be right as rain once we get this over with and have tea.” Walda waved off Sansa’s concern with a smile.

Walking across the open courtyard, the barking of dogs echoed out before a small pack of them came running out. Sansa loved how big and open the courtyard was, spying a little garden and stone trail that lead to a wooden door. She was pulled from wondering that door led by Walda speaking to her.

“Those are Sandor’s. All he has left of his old dog Stranger, died a year ago. This is his litter that the mother’s owner didn’t want.” Walda explained as the pack of black dogs ran happily together before noticing them and making way towards them. “Oh dear, better get ready here they come.”

Sansa barely had time to brace herself before Walda and she were surrounded by yipping dog, tails wagging fast and tongue lapping at every inch of her. One particularly brave dog stood on its hind legs, its front paws bracing against her waist so it could muzzle her chest and neck. “Whoa, that’s a good boy but down.” Sansa said as she avoided a tongue to the face and got nothing but dog breath as a reward. She reached out and touched its smooth shiny black fur, feeling the muscle beneath and laughing as it cocked its head at her and tried to lick her again.

“Down!” Came a deep rumbling raspy order that echoed throughout the courtyard like a crack of thunder.

Sansa flinched as her body seemed to want to follow the stern order, just like that pack of dogs who were now all sat obediently. Sansa looked up and saw a tall man standing within the shadows of the doorway leading into the house proper and struggled to get a good look at his face.

“Sandor, this is Sansa,” Walda said happily, “we’re heading to Gregor now.”

Sansa stared harder, willing for him to stand out of the shadows and into the light. Taking a couple steps forward, hoping that that would help her see him clearer, Sansa smiled, “Hello Mr. Clegane! I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Sandor replied by stepping back, deeper into the shadows before he answered her. “Was nothing Ms. Stark, glad that you like the house. I’ll be sending Gendry later on to re-inspect, make sure it’s up to standards so you won’t have trouble like last time again.”

Sansa didn’t try and move closer, sensing that Sandor was uncomfortable. She didn’t know why he should be but only smiled in return. “Thank you.”

“Walda, you need anything call Gendry. He should be about the place.” Sandor said as his tall imposing figure melted into the dark interior of the house.

“Oh? And what are you going to be doing?” Walda asked with a raised brow and a hand on her hip.

“Fucking work Fat Walda, the fuck else?” Sandor snapped before disappearing from sight. “Eat!” He ordered and the dogs leaped forward across the yard to where they were housed.

Sansa stood silent, startled at the retort but relaxed when Walda just laughed.

“The great idiot,” Walda said mostly to herself before grabbing Sansa’s wrist, “well come on. Gregor isn’t going anywhere and the longer we dawdle the more he’ll fall into a tantrum.”

Sansa tore here eyes from where Sandor Clegane disappeared too and let herself be lead in the opposite direction. At the mention of Gregor Sansa felt nervousness flood her. She had never altered anything for someone missing a limb, but she was determined to do this for her friend and for the man that had made it possible to leave the city by giving her a great price for her little home.

Walda led her inside a sunlight hallway, the heavy drapes pulled open and the glass windows ajar to let in the cool breeze. “When I got here the drapes were closed, this whole hallway was dark and Gregor’s room even darker. I’m not surprised that Sandor couldn’t keep a nurse aide on payroll. It was horrible and tragic, the very air heavy with desolation. Took me two days of arguing with them both before I got my way. No one should live in darkness, especially someone who suffers a loss of a limb and is on medication for manic episodes. Let me tell you,” Walda said with a small smile that was tinged with sadness, “since I let the light in, Gregor’s been doing better. He’s not so insufferable anymore. Not to say that he’s not an asshole but at least now I don’t want to smack him anymore.”

Sansa bit her lip, “Does he know that I’m coming? To fix his clothes?”

“Yes, that’s another long story and another battle that I won barely by the skin of my teeth.” Walda said with exhaustion. “But he knows and I warned him to be on his best behavior, but who knows with Gregor. Sometimes I think he likes getting on people nerves. Anyway here we are!”

Sansa stared at the impossibly tall wooden door, remembering that Walda had said that Gregor was taller than Sandor. Having dealt with altering Sandor’s cloth to fit Gendry, who had loved them as he had stared at himself in the mirror with a quiet sort of smile, Sansa knew that Sandor was a tall man. For Gregor to be taller, Sansa swallowed nervously and pushed down her urge to cower and pushed her shoulders back as Walda opened the door.

“Gregor, this is Sansa Stark the seamstress. Sansa, this is Gregor Clegane.” Walda introduced as she walked further into the dim room. “Who closed the drapes?” Walda asked with a sharp scolding tone. With a huff she pulled back the drapes and the bright light shined in and chased away the shadows.

Sansa squinted as the light filled the room, blinking rapidly to get her eyes accustomed to the change. Once her eyes had adjusted Sansa saw what had to be a custom made bed, and on it was a giant.

A broad forehead, short dark hair and a trimmed beard with dark eyes that seemed to be sizing her up and finding her wanting. He was wearing a simple white undershirt that showed his wide powerful shoulders, the scar from Walda’s story a jagged red line on his left shoulder in plain view, hard muscular biceps that seemed to go on forever. Powerful chest that seemed a mile long that went straight down into an equally powerful hips where the dark colored bed sheets covered his lower half- where Sansa saw one long thickly muscled leg and another abruptly cut off below the knee.

 Sansa took a breath and gave a small quick greeting grin, “Hello Mr. Clegane, pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m sure.” Gregor said with a mocking smile, eyes narrowed at her before turning to glare at Walda who was holding a walker in her hands. “Get that fucking thing away from me Fat Walda.”

Sansa felt awkward at hearing his deep voice, so different from his brothers, insult and mock the both of them within seconds. Where Sandor’s voice was a heady rasp, husky and yet smooth like whiskey, Gregor’s was a deep monotone that chilled Sansa. Berating herself for judging him so quickly, Sansa reminded herself that this man had suffered a horrible accident. Besides Walda didn’t appear to be insulted. In fact she only rolled her eyes in response and set the walker down by the bed.

“We don’t have all day Gregor, so up you get so Sansa can measure and start to work.” Walda said with an expectant look and hands on her wide hips.

“Fuck off Fat Walda, I don’t fucking need no red headed bitch coming in here and fucking up my clothes.” Gregor snarled, his massive hands clenching on the bed sheets and sweat beading on his forehead.

Sansa flushed at the insult, hands tightening on her bag and heat flooding her body at the uncomfortable situation.

Walda frowned at him and fearlessly stepped closer, ignoring the curses he sent her way as she pulled out a thermometer from her pocket and unceremoniously stuck it in his mouth in mid curse. “Now let’s see, oh a bit of a fever. I knew it. You always get more whiny than usual when you’re feeling sickish. I told you didn’t I Gregor? Staying in this bed is not only going to make you waste away the muscle that you have, but also get you sick. Do you want bedsores? Lord help me, you stubborn man, if you don’t get up I will call Gendry in here to pick you up like a baby.”

Gregor spat out the thermometer and wiped his mouth, “Fuck off Fat Walda, I’m not a fucking child and why Gendry? Why him and not the pup?” Fevered dark eyes latched onto Sansa and he breathed a cruel laugh. “Oh, I know why. Pup’s too embarrassed to show his-”

“That is **enough** Gregor Clegane.” Walda said sharply with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. “Don’t you say another word or so hope me I will make you regret it.”

Gregor shut his mouth and looked away. “Whatever.”

Sansa knew she had witnessed something important. Memories of a hushed conversation in her bathroom made Sansa look away in awkwardness.

_All I know is one day Sandor was fine and the next he was hospitalized and needed skin grafts for his face_

Sansa wondered just how damaged Sandor’s face was and maybe that’s why he didn’t want to step into the light- so that Sansa wouldn’t see. Feeling an ache in her chest for Sandor Clegane Sansa tried to push it down, focusing back on the eldest of the Clegane’s. Wondering what he did to Sandor that caused him guilt enough to heed Walda’s order.

Walda glared at Gregor for a moment longer before exhaling loudly and giving a pointed look to the walker.

Gregor huffed but quietly shifted his hips and used his powerful arms, arms that shook as he grabbed the walker and pulled himself up. The walker, custom made considering Gregor’s tall frame, took his weight and Gregor slowly pushed himself closer to the middle of the room, his one leg shuffling weakly as he breathed hard.

Sansa watched fascinated by how this powerful man shook from exertion, finally noticing how oddly frail Gregor looked- even with his muscles that seemed as large as her head. Gregor was pale and the skin around his eyes and mouth pinched with pain. Sansa wondered if all that time before Walda came to work with him just how long had Gregor lied in bed in the dark? Just how much muscle mass did he lose before Walda came and almost bullied him to get up? It must have been quite a bit if his body was shaking with effort and sweating-even with his fever.

Determined to be as professionally as possible, Sansa looked at his lower half with stoic eyes. Gregor had on plain plaid boxers on, leaving his pale thighs on display to the seamstress. Sansa didn’t react when she saw the healed nub a few inches below his knee. It looked oddly smooth and pink, the scar tissue still new. Sansa hummed quietly as she stared at his amputated leg, wondering what material she could buy that would least aggravate it.

“Take a fucking picture, it’ll last longer.” Gregor said sharply.

Sansa jerked back as she looked up at him, the anger barely hiding the man’s shame of her seeing his leg. She didn’t let herself take it personal, just pushed on with her polite mask. “A picture won’t help me with making the proper adjustments. If I may, can I ask just how sensitive your leg is?”

Gregor frowned heavily, “The fuck does that matter?”

Sansa gave him a polite look, one that she had practiced and perfected while living in the city, “I don’t want anything that I make to aggravate the scar. I know that some scar tissue is sensitive, some isn’t. I take pride in my work Mr. Clegane, I won’t rest easy if I know I made you something less than satisfactory.”

“Where the hell did you get this little girl scout Fat Walda?” Gregor said after a moment’s silence, glancing at Walda who was taking the chance that Gregor was out of bed and stripping the sweat soaked bed sheets.

Arms full of white sheets Walda rolled her eyes, “It’s sensitive Sansa, but not highly. If you could use something soft, like fleece, that’d be perfect. We’re discussing maybe getting a prosthetic for him.”

Gregor sighed but said nothing, looking exhausted as he stood holding onto the walker. “Well, get on with it girl scout. Fat Walda brought you here to work, so fucking work.”

Sansa didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly put down her bag and pulled out her measuring tape, notebook and pen before getting close to him and dropping to her knees. Hearing Gregor laugh, she looked up in question and quickly looked away at his leer. Ignoring him, and her position, she dove into her work as she heard Walda scold Gregor once more. Sansa measured both legs, his hips, the thickness of his thighs and the amputation site. That one she did delicately, the whole room falling into a thick silence as Sansa wound the tape gently around it. Once she had had the measurements, she asked Gregor how he liked his pants to fit him. Sansa saw how he was waning, his face becoming paler the longer he held himself up with the walker, and strove to ask her questions as fast as possible. Gregor answered her, insults and darks look mixed in, that he liked a little give to his pants before off-handily mentioning that his shirts were either too tight, or too short. Sansa didn’t hesitate in bringing a chair for her to stand on so she could measure his arms and torso.

“Do you want all new clothes made, or the ones that you have now to be tailored?” Sansa asked as she put away her measuring tape and notebook.

Gregor eased down on the chair that she had vacated, seeing that Walda was still not done fixing the bed, and sighed with relief. Eyes shut and breaths just a bit too loud Gregor sighed, “Fat Walda set aside the clothes that I still want. The rest you can make. Fat Walda knows what I want.”

Sansa nodded as Walda finished making the bed, clean sheets and pillow cases plumped up. She watched Walda pulled back the covers and helped Gregor up again so that he could get in bed again. Sighing loudly with the pressure off his remaining limbs, Gregor laid his head back on the pillows, his face marked with bone deep exhaustion.

“I set it aside for you,” Walda said as she lifted a small duffle bag, “The rest I’ve cut up into cleaning rags or donated. I’ll be back Gregor.” Walda said gently to the dozing man. Closing the door behind them, Walda sighed, “well that went much better than I was expecting.”

“Seriously? I thought he was going to eat me alive back there.” Sansa said in a quiet burst of anxiety.

“Gregor is…an acquired taste. He’s mean, but he’s better than he was before. Those nurses’ aides before, god bless them, tried to help him but Gregor is a completely different animal. I’m not surprised that they were quitting on Sandor. _Especially_ since when I got here Sandor was having yelling matches with him, Gendry in the middle making sure that they didn’t kill each other and Lenora in her study with headphones to block out the screaming. Gregor was never going to get better, shrouded in darkness, locked away like an unwanted stray and yelling himself hoarse with his brother. The toxicity that this house had, Sansa it was horrible. What was worse was seeing Gregor, lying in bed in the dark stewing in his anger and hurt; seeing Sandor stalk off in rage and withheld violence and frustration with seeing Gregor get worse and worse.” Walda confided in her as she started off down the hallway. “Imagine Sansa, Gregor is six foot nine, even with the slight muscle atrophy Gregor’s strong and with a nasty temperament it’s a wonder that the nursing aides lasted two months at a time. Add to the fact that Sandor was added to the mix, snarling like a damn dog- well it was bound to be a disaster.”

“So you mean they’re _nice_ to you?” Sansa asked with disbelief.

“Yes if you can believe it. I think because we know each other since childhood that they’re less likely to act like righteous asshole all the time.” Walda said with a careless shrug as she led Sansa into the kitchen and made tea for them. “What I’m worried about is Gregor not wanting to leave his bed. He hasn’t said anything about the prosthetic since I’ve mentioned it. The only good thing is that he doesn’t mess with his medication. He takes his dosage faithfully without fail, even in the early days when it was just Lenora here with him. He would take his pills without a fuss, never giving Lenora much trouble on that. Thank god.” Walda said as she slid a cup to Sansa and pulled a tray of cookies closer to them.

Sitting on the stool closest to Walda, Sansa added sugar to her tea and stirred before taking a deep drink. Feeling fortified she reached out and took a cookie, “It’s terrible what happened to him, but with you at his side I’m sure he’ll recover soon enough.”

Walda smiled brightly, “Thank you Sansa. Now that I mostly have Gregor under hand, I need to convince Sandor that we need to get a physical therapist. I’m strong, but Gregor is…”

“He’s a mountain of a man.” Sansa quipped before taking another sip.

“Yes, he truly is. I need help in turning him over, lifting him up and just moving him. Gendry helps, but he’s got his own job to think about and Sandor is still too bitter to help without saying something hurtful to his brother.” Walda said before biting her cookie.

“What-” Sansa began before biting her lip and cut herself off.

Walda took a sip and looked at her. Putting her cup down Walda looked at the redhead, “You want to know what Gregor did to Sandor?”

“It’s none of my business.” Sansa said quickly, glancing around the kitchen to make sure that Sandor wasn’t hiding somewhere inside.

Walda sighed and looked out the window, “The Clegane’s are a family drenched in hurt Sansa, it’s better for you if you don’t know. I told you, I don’t know exactly what happened myself but after being here for two weeks I’m not sure I want to know. They need to let go of the past, of all the hurt and just go forward. Gregor was sick with no help back then, he’s on medication but some scars take long to heal- but they are healing. Hopefully this time together will help them.” Walda mused before drinking her tea.

Sansa said nothing, finishing her tea and cookie before Walda cleaned up and the two were walking out of the house and crossing the courtyard. Soon Sansa found herself by her car, a somber Walda giving her a hug goodbye before stepping back. Placing the duffel bag in the back Sansa got in her car, waved at Walda, and just as she reversed she caught sight of a tall man by the entrance gate, face shrouded in shadow. Sansa waved at him but wasn’t surprised that Sandor didn’t wave back. Sansa didn’t know why she was still so hell bent on wanting to know everything little thing about Sandor Clegane.

It had started as a simple curiosity of the man that had made it possible for her to rent a home with the money that she had secretly saved away. Sansa had never told anyone how hard she had cried, tears of relief after months of looking for places to move to but the price too high with what she had saved away only for Bronn to lower the rent price for her. She was grateful, but somewhere along the way her curiosity turned into obsession almost. She **needed** to know about the man, not because he had made it possible to leave the city with its hateful lies and even more hateful and painful memories, but because he sounded like such a complicated person. A person who has suffered god knows what, a person filled with bitterness and rage from what Walda has said; but a person who takes in a litter of dogs because they’re a legacy to his beloved dog called Stranger. A person who came back home to care for Gregor, the person that had accidently hurt him in a way that Sansa could only assume was so hurtful that he was never the same again.

Sandor Clegane sounded like the very definition of a Byronic hero and Sansa for better or for worse was hooked on him.


	2. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing by the entrance of the Keep, Sandor watched from the shadows as Sansa Stark pulled away and waved in his direction. Sandor didn’t bother to wave back, the less he interacted with her the better…for his own sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is Sandor's POV. I gotta warn y'all, there is a lot of sad stuff in this chapter. If you don't feel comfortable with reading about a kid suffering hallucinations, getting burned, the loss of a limb, and a pet being put to sleep then I suggest you don't. 
> 
> Here it is.

“Sandor Clegane?”

Sandor had been walking in the park by his house when he phone had rung. He didn’t think nothing of it, pulling out his cell and disregarding the unknown number. Very few people were saved on his contact list, so he answered distractingly as he looked at the surrounding trees. The woman that spoke though, stopped him right in his tracks, something in his gut twisting at the crisp impersonal tone of the woman on the other line.

“Speaking, who’s this?” Sandor asked with a barely restrained growl.

“This is Talia, from Western Hill Hospital. I’m calling to inform you that your brother, Gregor Clegane, has been in an accident. Seeing as you’re listed as the next of kin, and his guardian, we need you here as soon as possible to discuss his situation.” Talia went on to say with that same impersonal tone, devoid of any feeling or interest.

Sandor stared unseeingly at a small cluster of trees within the small park that he liked to stroll about and felt his knees weaken. He ruthlessly straightened to his full height and glared, “What kind of accident?” If Gregor got into another fight, if Old Ferna wasn’t fucking doing her job right _again_ …

“Unfortunately I cannot disclose that over the phone. We require your presence here as his guardian,” here the woman’s impersonal tone softened, “I’m afraid that he’s in the ICU.”

Sandor clenched his free hand and pushed down the need to snarl at her to tell him what the fuck was going on with his brother. He didn’t _want_ to go to that fucking hospital ever again. See it’s pristine white walls, smell its disinfectant stale air that reeked of flowers that the staff littered about to chase away the smell of death, and Sandor sure as shit didn’t want to go back to that hellhole for the same fucker who had sent them there in the first place.

But…

But Sandor knew Lenora wasn’t going to go. She was barley eighteen and whether Sandor liked it or not he was the one appointed _both_ Gregor and Lenora’s guardian. Gregor because of his mental health issues, and Lenora because she was a little brat that had still been a minor when their father died.

Sighing heavily, Sandor rubbed his forehead, careful of the scars, “Is he stable?”

“For now.” Talia responded, the impersonal tone back in force.

“I’ll be out on the next flight.” Sandor said and unceremoniously hung up. Looking around casually Sandor walked up to the small cluster of trees, seeing no one he sent his clenched fist hard into the bark and yelled, “Fuck!” Birds flew out of the trees in a frightened flurry of wings, leaves shook down like green rain and the trunk cracked with the impact. A steady pulse of throbbing pain spread from his knuckles, to his wrist and up his arm, flooding his nervous system that made Sandor breathe easier.

Pain always made his mind settle, after all pain Sandor understood quite intimately. They were old friends after all.

Pushing away from the tree, his hand pulsing with pain, he unlocked his phone and called the one man that Sandor trusted with his life.

“Well, well, well if this isn’t a nice surprise,” Bronn Hill said with a slow drawl dripping with humor, “and what can I do for the infamous Hound?”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Cut the shit Bronn, you still looking for a job?”

Immediately Bronn’s mischievous tone faded and in its place came a curtness that the blue eyed man rarely ever let anyone see. “What kind of job?”

“Legit.” Sandor said just as curtly. “Got a bad fucking feeling about some stuff happening back home, going to need someone to handle the front end of the business for me while I go off and take care of it.”

“Front end?” Bronn asked, curious to just what exactly Sandor was asking for.

“Meeting potential clients, taking calls, making fucking deals. Bronn I know you have a business degree the fuck else do you think I need you for?” Sandor snapped sharply as he crossed the street, the throbbing pain from his hand already dying down, and back to his apartment complex.

“Just making sure Hound,” Bronn said with his friendly drawl, “when do I start?”

“Wait for my call.” Sandor said and hung up on him as he bypassed the elevator and all but ran up the stairs. Reaching his door, Sandor quickly unlocked it and held up a battered hand to Stranger, “Stay.” The large black dog, who had weakly tried to get up, lowered itself back on the plush cushion and stared at him with dark eyes. Sandor pulled out his wallet and powered up his computer. Soon he was booking a one way ticket to the closest airport to his hometown and as soon as the confirmation page loaded on his screen Sandor stood.

Packing a bag was easy, leaving Stranger wasn’t.

The dog had been having issues with his hip for a while, his breed was known for it, but it had never gotten this bad. He had been walking and running just a few days ago, playing around with apartment Six B’s dog. Sandor had taken Stranger to the vet, but the old man just shrugged his shoulders and prescribed pain pills.

Just like with that phone call, Sandor’s gut twisted when seeing his dog struggling to get up at barely seven years old.

Grabbing his phone he didn’t have to wait long for Bronn to answer. As soon as he heard Bronn speak he cut the man off, speaking sharply, “My flight leaves in a few hours. I need you to come and take care of Stranger, I’ll leave the key with the security guard. I have some calls that need to be returned, the folders are marked and you can read my notes before calling them.”

“Need a ride to the airport?” Bronn said patiently, used to the Hound’s abrasive temperament.

“No, I can call a cab. I’ll call you when I reach West Keep.” Sandor hung up and went to shower and change before calling said cab. Later, with damp hair dripping down his black shirt, Sandor walked out the bedroom and crouched before Stranger. “Gotta go away for a while, but don’t worry Bronn will take care of you. I’ll be back.” Sandor reached out and rubbed his dog behind the ears, leaning forward to rub his forehead against the soft black fur of Strangers skull. Sighing he gave a final goodbye pat and stood.

Sandor grabbed his duffle bag, wallet stuffed in his pocket, and made for the door. He didn’t look back, closing it behind him and locking it. Making his way down the stairs, through the main entrance to the building. He dropped off the key and gave instructions that a man called Bronn Hill would be coming by to watch over his apartment. Looking out the glass doors, Sandor saw the cab pulling up and walked out to open the bright yellow car door before the driver could park. “Crownland Airport, departures.”

The driver glanced back and immediately threw his gaze forward. The man in the back was too tall, too wide, and too scarred for him to make any type of small talk.

Sandor didn’t pay any mind to the driver, instead he kept his eyes focused outside the window until minutes later he began to see more traffic and see the numerous planes waiting for lift-off. Paying the driver, a nice tip for the silence, Sandor stepped out and went to the self-check-in machines. Boarding pass printed, Sandor made his way to the security check-point. Showing his identifications, hauling off his shoes and stepping inside the machine that hummed around him and showed an x-ray of his body, he passed the check point and stuffed his feet back in his shoes. Setting off to his gate Sandor took a seat and pulled out his phone.

Sandor glared at no one in particular, noticing and ignoring the morbidly fascinated stares thrown his way, and cursed when Lenora didn’t answer. Making another call he sighs when he hears Old Ferna answer, “Ferna, where the fuck is Lenora and just why the fuck did I have to get a call from the goddamn hospital to tell me about Gregor?”

“Oh,” Old Ferna cried out, “little lord it’s just been terrible since this morning!”

Sandor rolled his eyes and sighed, “Calm down Ferna, fucksake, and tell me what happened?”

Old Ferna sniffed disgustedly as she sobbed, “E-ever since the little master came home, he’s taken to walking the grounds by himself. He s-says that it helps him feel at peace, so this morning it wasn’t any different. Little master ate breakfast, took his medicine, I made sure he swallowed it, and he went off on his walk. O-only he didn’t come h-home like he was supposed to!” The old woman wailed.

Sandor grimaced at the sound and lowered his voice, “Now calm down Ferna, what happened after that?”

“I thought, w-well maybe he stopped by the l-lake,” Ferna said with a trembling voice, “so I gave it another hour or so. Took the time to clean his room, change his sheets. Y-you know how fussy he gets with his sheets.” Ferna said before sniffling.

Sandor knew all about his brother’s obsessive need with having clean sheets. “And then what?”

“Well, the hour turned into two, and then into three and the morning had come and gone. I called up Gendry, and some of the men, and went out to look for him. I couldn’t get the little lady to leave her room so I just told her be stand-by on the phone.” Ferna said with a shaking voice. “W-we found him almost an hour ago. Little lord,” Ferna breathed before she broke down crying once more, “h-he was so still. Lying there, b-bleeding and grey a-and I thought of you and I didn’t know what to do!”

Sandor felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at the same time that his mouth twisted in an old familiar bitter grin, “Well, not quite like me Ferna.”

The old woman’s cries cut off abruptly, “Little lord, we all knew that the little master was sick-”

“Sick and did nothing. Not until Lenora.” Sandor snarled into his phone, hunching down so that no one saw him or the rage that was darkening his features. “Don’t fucking compare what happened to _me_ to what’s happening to _him_. If anything this just goes to show that at least there is some justice in the world.”

Old Ferna gasped, “Little lord, please don’t speak that way. For better or worse Gregor is your brother. He is sick, he can’t help that his brain doesn’t work the same way that ours does.”

“Always with the excuses for him Ferna.” Sandor said hotly, feeling the resentment and rage coloring his words. “Don’t worry, I’m coming to take care of your _little master_.”

“Little lord,” Old Ferna said with pity and some other emotion that made her old soothing voice soft.

Sandor hated how it affected him, making him feel like he was five years old again and wanting Ferna to hugs him. So he reacted like he always did when he felt too exposed, he lashed out. “I don’t want to fucking hear it Ferna. I’ll see you when I get to the Keep. Don’t tell Lenora that I’m coming. I’ll handle her when I get there.” Sandor said through clenched teeth as the paging system announced his flight was ready to board.

“Please little lord, she’s just a child.” Ferna pleaded.

“She’s fucking eighteen,” Sandor hissed, “and _I’m_ her guardian. Don’t test me Ferna, not fucking now.”

“Yes little lord.” Ferna said in a small voice.

Cursing as he handed his boarding pass to the flight attendant, glaring at her when she flinched at seeing his face, Sandor eased up on the old housekeeper. “Put Gendry to watch over her and meet me at the hospital. We’ll see what the doctor’s got to say about Gregor.” Walking down the tunnel Sandor ignored the attendant greeting him as he entered the plane and went to his seat.

“Thank you little lord, thank you. I’ll leave everything in order here.” Ferna gushed, breaking into tears again.

“Yes, alright calm down Ferna before you land yourself in the hospital too. I’ll there in a few hours, goodbye.” Sandor said and waited until after the old woman hung up to turn off his cell phone and put his duffle bag into the overhead compartment and sat down into the first class seat. Luckily the capital of Westerlands, Kings Landings, wasn’t that far away from Golden Tooth City. His flight would take him directly to Golden Tooth, where he would catch a cab to the hospital where his brother was.

Sitting back into the plush seat, stretching out his legs as far as he can, Sandor lets the flight passes in a bored haze ignoring the attendant when he asked if Sandor wanted a drink. Sandor dispassionately stares out his small little window, taking in the vast blue skies and endless puffs of clouds and wonders how it would feel to be that free. His father had shackled him with responsibility the moment his mother had managed to send Gregor away to get treatment.

_I will not let everything our family has worked for fall into the greedy fucking hands of the state!_

His father was a proud man, and Sandor stood no chance against his decision to name him the heir to Clegane Keep and the guardian to his siblings.

Morbidly Sandor wondered if when he got to the hospital and was told that Gregor was too injured to make it how would he feel. Wondered if they would ask him to pull the plug, would he? How would he feel knowing that he held Gregor’s fate in his hands? Sandor couldn’t make sense of his emotions to that thought so he simply leans back into the seat cushion.

Hours later, dozing off with the inactivity, Sandor wakes up to hear the Captain on the intercom system say that they’re about to land. Sandor doesn’t waste a second once the sign to unbuckle their seatbelts lights up and the plane is connected to a terminal gate. He hunches down and awkwardly steps into the aisle, the seat next to him blessedly empty and opens the compartment and grabs his bag.  

In no time Sandor stalks out of the plane, the first one out, and out of the tunnel. He follows the masses as they make way to the baggage claim area and right out the door of the airport. Breathing in the fresh air, the sound of car horns and people shouting out directions filling his ears, settles Sandor into the present and out of his dark thoughts of the future. Lifting a hand, towering over the nearby people, Sandor flags down a cab and tells the driver to head for the hospital.

Before long, staring listlessly out the window to the cluster of buildings and traffic of Golden Tooth, the cab stops in front of the main entrance of Western Hill Hospital. Stepping out, paying the cabbie and tipping him, Sandor glares at the medical facility and doesn’t notice that someone is calling to him until he feels a hand on his arm.

Flinching Sandor tightens his hands into fists and looks down with a heavy scowl, readying to tear into whoever the fuck was crazy enough to touch him without his consent, that only lightens when he recognizes the old weathered face of Old Ferna. “Ferna.”

Old Ferna stays her hand on Sandor’s arm, knowing that under all the grouch and legitimate danger of Sandor’s temper the little lord aches for closeness. It’s so sad to Ferna that after all these years, that one day when Gregor had an episode it was the little lord who bore the consequences- that to this day stops him and other people from getting close. “It’s good to see you little lord, even in this situation.”

Sandor relaxes under the old woman’s hold and slowly lays his big calloused hand over her thin one, “The fuck happened out there Ferna?”

Ferna sighs and squeezes his arm, “Gregor went out walking, like he always does after breakfast, and went out by the ravine. He strayed too close to the edge and it broke under him, it was soft from all the rain we’d been having. Far as we can tell, when he fell Gregor was impaled with a rock in his calf. The force of the fall and his own weight loosened the rock from his muscle but oh,” Ferna gasped as tears stung at her red rimmed eyes, “he was bleeding out, unconscious, and by the time we managed to get him out and into the ambulance there were already these dark lines spreading from the injury. Didn’t understand what the paramedics were saying, something about sepsis and tissue dying. Oh little lord, what’s to happen to the little master?” Ferna cried before pressing her lips together tightly.

Sandor shut his eyes and cursed under his breath before pulling the frail old woman to his side, laying one thick muscled arm over her thin shoulders. “Dry those tears Ferna, they’re not going to help none. Now let’s go inside and see how fucked the situation is, alright?”

Ferna took a deep breath and nodded, not wanting to let go of the little lord.

The two walked into the hospital and signed in, passing through with their badges all the way up to the ICU. Once there they stepped up to the small intercom system where Sandor pressed down on the button.

“Yes?” came the mechanical voice.

“Sandor Clegane and Ferna Black here for Gregor Clegane.” Sandor said curtly.

“Come through.” The voice said before a buzzing sound was heard and the doors opened.

Sandor walked in, duffle bag strapped across his back, with Ferna under his arm. They were met by a harried looking old man and a stalwart looking nurse.

“Mr. Clegane?” The old man said, his white coat pristine over teal covered scrubs.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Qyburn and this is Nurse Talia, I was lead in the ED when your brother was brought in.” Dr. Qyburn said as he waved them to follow him down the hall.

Sandor ground his teeth, stepping past closed and open doors with all manner of people inside. Endless tubes sticking into arms, mouths and god knew what else; the smell of sick or dying heavy in the air no matter how strong the scent of disinfectant tried to combat it. Sandor gripped onto Ferna tightly, memories of when he was in PICU threatening to overwhelm him. Old Ferna wound her thin arm around his waist in response, her fingers clutching onto his shirt and nails sinking past the fabric to dig into his skin. The small prick of pain grounded him as Sandor trailed after the doctor and the nurse. They opened a door and stepped in, and Sandor couldn’t even find the words if his life depended on it to describe what he was feeling once he caught sight of Gregor. He gasped at the sight, Ferna raising a hand to cover her mouth and stifle a cry.

“We tried everything to save the leg, but I am afraid that the sepsis was too far along for it. The wound was drenched in ravine water, dirt and small pebbles of rock. The injury too big for it to clot. The leg went too long with the flow of blood blocked and deprived of oxygen. The tissue was dying, the poison was spreading, and rather than lose the whole leg we cut just below the knee.” Dr. Qyburn said softly, as he kept his gaze on the tall dark man with the too sharp grey eyes and the scars. “Once that danger passed, we had to make sure that there were no other injuries. His ribs took quite the beating but no breaks, just hairline fractures that will heal in time. His arms has a few cuts that we dealt with, but it’s his head that worries me. He has a rather nasty lump on the back of his head, presumably from what the EMT reports, as the result of his fall. There is swelling but nothing in the CAT scan showed any bleeding, regardless we’re administering medicine to help with that. Your brother is lucky to be alive.”

Sandor stared at his brother’s face, swollen and painted black and blue. He had on a white hospital gown, wires crawling out from under it and attached to machines that showed that his heart was beating. His head was wrapped and a clear tube was stuffed into his nostrils, feeding him oxygen. Gregor’s wide chest rose rhythmically up and down, heedless of his fractured ribs, the inside of his elbow decorated with a needle taped onto the skin to prevent it from moving. The back of his hand also had another needle taped onto the skin, but it was below the waist that jarred Sandor.

Gregor’s leg, it just simply stopped after the knee. The bed sheet lay over the muscle of Gregor’s thigh, creasing to follow the thick muscle and the rounded knee but it fell abruptly flat afterwards. Sandor didn’t know why the sight of it, next to Gregor’s whole leg, had his heart speeding up painfully and cold sweat breaking out over his body.

Ferna gasped and cried, hand still over her mouth, “Oh Gregor, you poor little thing.”

Sandor struggled to get his thoughts in order. Some part of him laughing hysterically at the righteousness of Gregor having to go through life maimed in the same manner as Sandor, another part of Sandor breaking at the sight of such a horrible injury to his own flesh and blood. “The medicine,” Sandor managed to rasp out, his eyes glued to the amputated leg, “will it affect the current medication that he’s on now?”

Dr. Qyburn and Nurse Talia frowned in tandem.

“What medication is he taking?” Dr. Qyburn asked sternly before turning to his nurse, “Did no one ask the people on sight for any pre-existing conditions and medications?”

Nurse Talia crossed the room and grabbed the patient chart, her green eyes taking in the document and scowling, “There’s nothing in here stating that the patient has any condition, other than the one that we’re treating him for.”

“He suffers from manic episodes, he takes medication for it.” Sandor said with more life in his voice, his forehead furrowing into a heavy frown. “What does this mean? His medication going to fuck with the medicine for his swelling?”

“It all depends, can you give me the medications that he’s taking.” Dr. Qyburn said as he pulled out a pad and a pen.

Ferna stepped forward, both her and Sandor hearing the urgency in the doctors voice, “I know them, dosage and everything doctor. I learned when he was first diagnosed.”

Sandor glances at Ferna and the doctor, huddling to the side as they spoke in hushed voices, before he turned his eyes to his brother. Stepping close, the nurse heading to the computer stationed to the far side of the room, Sandor stared down at his unconscious brother that he hadn’t laid eyes on for years. He can feel the worry for his brother’s safety, but it’s buried deep beneath the bitterness, the resentment and hatred. Sandor clenches his jaw and stares, leaning forward until it seems like it’s only the two of them in the world.

“I’m glad that this happened to you. I only hope that you suffer as much as I did back then.” Sandor whispers to his brother, hands clenching into fists and his grey eyes narrowing darkly. “Welcome to the club brother.”

Sandor leans back, catching Nurse Talia’s eye, and goes to sit on the only available chair. He lets the doctor’s words and Ferna’s wash over him, he ignores the Nurse’s pointed look, ignores the way her hands clutch the metal clipboard with Gregor’s information to her chest, and just leans back and stares at Gregor.

What a pair they make, both damaged and scarred.

 

* * *

 

 

Stepping into the Keep, Ferna staying at Gregor’s bedside with strict orders to call him if anything should change, Sandor greets Gendry who comes out from the kitchen.

“Mr. Clegane,” Gendry says, hand out and his head lowering in a greeting nod, “any news on Mr. Gregor Clegane?”

Sandor shakes his hand, hazy memories of a younger boy who always looked him straight in the eyes filtering in. “Call me Sandor, none of the Mr. Clegane shit. Gregor’s still unconscious. Where’s my sister?”

Gendry points over his shoulder, “Still in her room. I went up with some food but she told me to fu- well she told me to leave her alone.”

Sandor shakes his head, “That brat. You can go home Gendry, thank you.”

Gendry nods and leaves, looking over his shoulder to see Sandor make his way up the darkened stairs.

Last he’d seen Sandor was when he was around twelve. He remember how he’d raged in the night, when he thought no one was watching, cursing at his father that made Sandor take an oath to watch over his siblings; to watch over Clegane Keep. Gendry had hid behind a stone column, everyone else inside the Keep waiting for the Master of the house, Tabor Clegane, to finish drawing his last breath. Gregor was away from the Keep, getting treated for his episodes and Lenora was being watched over by Old Ferna in the nursery. Gendry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screaming dark figure that Sandor presented against the star filled night sky. Like something out of a novel.

Blinking back to the present, Gendry still thinks that Sandor is made of legends. He’s taller than Gendry remembers and the shadows seem to cling to him like a well-known lover, drenching his master’s broad shoulders in darkness. Gendry turns away, leaving Sandor to his privacy and walks out the Keep.

Sandor faintly hears the front door open and close as he walks up the staircase, tries to smother the memories that they bring, and stalks down the hallway. He can see light shining from under his sister’s door and feels his blood start to burn with anger. Without pause he reaches the door and grabs the doorknob, not wasting a second in turning and throwing it open. He sees his sister jump in surprise as the door hits the wall with a loud bang, her lap top that’s perched on her knees falling to the side and her mouth falling open.

“Sandor?” Lenora Clegane says stupidly before her grey eyes widen.

“Oh,” Sandor snarls with sarcasm, “so you _do_ remember your brother’s name. Funny how I fucking called you hours ago to ask you about Gregor and you didn’t pick up at all. You remember him don’t you? Our brother who’s lying in the hospital possibly brain dead?” Sandor hisses as he strides into the room and snatches her lap top, her headphones ripping from her ears, and slams it closed.

Lenora finally closes her mouth and crosses her arms over her chest, “My phone was on vibrate, I didn’t hear you call.”

Sandor clenches his jaw, “What have I told you about keeping your phone on loud? Never mind that,” Sandor rushes to say when he sees his sister open her mouth, “the fuck didn’t you go out with Ferna to look for Gregor? And why didn’t you think to call me that this had happened?”

“They had the whole household out looking, they didn’t need me out there.” Lenora says in a petulant tone. “Besides I knew that Ferna would call you.”

“Ferna is the housekeeper! You’re my sister! It’s your duty to let know when shit like this happens!” Sandor curses until he’s blue in the face, not stopping to take a breath. He stares down his sister until he sees that she starts getting nervous, her grey eyes looking away from him to flick about the room. “Leaving you here was a mistake, I see that now.” Sandor tells her in a low rasp.

Lenora jerks and stares right back at him, “You can’t-”

“The hell I can’t Lenora. As far as I’m concerned I’m still in charge of you. You still go to school, you have no work experience, and you’re too full of yourself. I can’t believe that I let Ferna have her way and let her take care of you. She has spoiled you rotten but by god it ends today.” Sandor promised with resolve.

“Sandor, what are you going to do?” Lenora asked, shrinking back into her pillows.

“What I should have done long ago, should have followed my gut instead of being taken in by sentiment.” Sandor growls as he pulls out his cell phone and unlocks his screen. Going to his recent calls, he selects the one name that always has had his back. “Bronn, change of plans. I’m going to need you out here, there are some things that I need doing and they need doing fast.” Sandor looks about the room while hearing Bronn mutter about how he’s turning out to be quite the handful, Sandor catches sight of his sister’s cellphone. Without pause he crosses the room and with a lightning fast move grabs it before his sister does.

“Sandor! You can’t do that!” Lenora yells, scrambling off her bed and standing with her five feet eleven frame held taunt with anger.

“Hold on Bronn,” Sandor mutters before pressing the phone onto the meat of his shoulder, leaning down so he can look his sister in the eye he snarls, “Lenora I can do whatever the fuck I want. This is **my** house. The fun ends now.”

Lenora seethes, “What do you even care? Just go back to the city, leave Gregor and me forgotten and abandoned here at the Keep- we were all happier.”

Sandor grits his teeth and shakes his head, “Lenora the only reason why I left was because if I had stayed I would have killed Gregor, not because I don’t care. I left so that you could grow up feeling loved and not worrying about what you say will lead to screams and tears, and Ferna- even with her spoiling you- loves you without the cloud of anger that always surrounds me. Now that Gregor’s hurt, possibly dying right this second, I see just how selfish you’ve become. I know what I have to do.” Sandor stepped closer, Lenora stepping back at the resolved look in his eyes. “I am coming back to take charge of Clegane Keep. I am coming back to make sure that Gregor doesn’t die like a fucking vegetable at the hospital. I am coming back to do what Ferna couldn’t with you.”

Lenora snorts, crossing her arms as a shield, as she rolled her eyes, “Oh _yeah_? And what’s that?”

“Discipline you. Now get your ass changed, we’re going to the hospital. I’m giving you five minutes. If by that time you are not ready I will drag you from the house no matter how you look and take you anyway.” Sandor warned before turning to leave the room.

“I hate you!” Lenora shrieked as she stomped her foot on the floor.

“I don’t care.” Sandor yelled back just before closing the door. Taking a moment to gather himself, Sandor cracks his neck to release the built up tension before striding down the hall.

Heading to his room, seeing how Ferna had it freshened up for him, he locked away Lenora’s things and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Five minutes later Sandor was heading to the staircase and saw a sulking Lenora propped against the wall. Saying nothing he led the way down the stairs and out the door.

In the truck, the way back to the city and to the hospital was silent. It wasn’t until they were stepping off the elevator and being buzzed into the ICU that Sandor noticed how tense Lenora had gotten. Stepping into Gregor’s room, Ferna humming an old nursery song that sparked childhood memories that Sandor shied away from, Sandor pushed down a shudder from seeing how broken his brother looked. He had thought that seeing him already would have lessened the impact, but no- it was still shocking to see Gregor like this.

Ferna looked up, standing at Gregor’s bedside softly caressing his arm in comfort, and wisely said nothing as she saw Sandor’s stern expression and Lenora’s sulkiness; an expression that was fading as her youthful face drained of color.

“What happened to him?” Lenora whispered as her eyes began to sting with tears.

Sandor glared at Ferna to shut her mouth, the old woman prudently looking away, and glanced at his young sister. “Maybe if you’d have known if you’d done as you were told.” Sandor couldn’t help but snarl at her before sighing tiredly. “The ground gave way when he went out for his morning walk. Bastard must have hit every fucking rock on the way down. He’s got a head injury that’s making the doctor nervous, fractured ribs, lacerations and he got sepsis that forced his leg being amputated to save his life. He was found too late for them to save it.”

Lenora bit her mouth, her expression crumbling into a pained grimace, “I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t-” She trailed off as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Sandor wanted to say more but the look that Ferna threw him made him hold his tongue, for now at least. “Lenora, you are going to stay here. Ferna and I are going back to Clegane Keep. _We’ve_ had a long day.”

Lenora whirled to face her older brother, panic plain in her expression, “You can’t _leave_ me here alone.”

Sandor ignored her, signaling Ferna- who looked about as happy to leave as a raving dog- to get up before turning to look down at his sister. “I’ll inform the nursing station to call me if anything changes, since your privileges are as of now revoked until I deem you worthy again. Ferna, with me.”

Ferna sighed but followed after Sandor, leaving Lenora to stand alone in the room with an unconscious Gregor.

Sandor quickly spoke to the nurse in charge, writing down his contact numbers and letting it known that his sister was staying with Gregor. Soon Ferna and him were walking out the hospital and climbing into the truck.

“Do you think it’s a good idea leaving the little lady with him?” Ferna risked asking.

“Lenora has been running wild with you as her caretaker.” Sandor rasped as he pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I should have been more involved. I’m moving back. Should have moved back years ago but I fucking couldn’t stand the Keep. Should have just sucked it up and handled things, now Lenora is suffering with a spoilt attitude and Gregor down a leg- not that he doesn’t deserve it.” Sandor muttered in bitter rage.

“You are being cruel little lord.” Ferna couldn’t help but whisper. “You know that the little master didn’t mean to hurt you, to hurt Lenora. He isn’t right in his head, Master Clegane didn’t want to see until the Lady forced him. You weren’t there to see how Gregor suffered after he got treatment.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about suffering Ferna, don’t you fucking dare.” Sandor warned as he tightened his hands on the wheel. “I had to endure what he did to me for years, hiding like some fucking monster in the attic. The Keep’s very own Quasimodo. Everywhere I went people stared, keep staring, and flinch like I’m a freak of nature. Gregor’s suffering means shit to me, it doesn’t even come close to the fucking hell he condemned me too.” Sandor went on, raging quietly aware that if he didn’t reign in the violence and the hate that he’d hurt Ferna and Sandor would die before doing that.

Ferna tried to blink back tears, “Oh little lord. My heart breaks for you, it always has but you’re stronger than all of them. I’ve known it since you were five years old and trotting after my dear old William to the stables. I knew that you would survive it, because you have an inner strength that Lenora and Gregor don’t.” Ferna said with doggedness as she looked at him with endless maternal love in her eyes.

Sandor grinded his teeth, glaring out the windshield, “That’s no excuse for what you all did to me. It didn’t bring me comfort when I lay in my bed, hidden away from the world and forbidden to leave the grounds or speak to anyone, and it doesn’t bring me comfort now.”

After that the drive home was heavy from old hurts and bitter truths. Just a regular Clegane reunion.

 

* * *

 

 

Sandor knew that they were in the house, had seen how the workers were walking in and out of the Keep to clean Gregor’s room.

It’d been a week and a half after Sandor had gotten the call about the accident and now here he was, hiding in the study while everyone was running about with his brother’s arrival.

Just like old times.

He stood by the large glass window that gave a view to the courtyard, taking care to stand in the shadows so that his face wasn’t visible to anyone who might look up. Sandor had seen the edge of a wheelchair, Lenora walking with a clear big with bloody clothes and Ferna with a bag from the pharmacy. Sandor hadn’t gotten a glimpse of his brother and he didn’t want to. Gregor was home, safe and sound, as far as Sandor was concerned his part was done.

No sooner had he come to that conclusion there came a knock at the door. Sighing, Sandor stepped away from the window and went to sit at the plush worn leather chair. “Come in.”

Ferna walked in, looking more haggard than usual, the bag clutched in her thin work worn hands. Her black heavy cotton cardigan hung about her like a dark cape, her work pants a startlingly green that dipped into sturdy black boots. Her dark greyed hair was pulled back into a serviceable bun, and her eyes pinched. But for as much as she looked exhausted, there was a peace in the way she stood before Sandor. “They’re settling him in his room now, drugged to his ears poor thing.” Ferna said before glancing at one of the chairs that were placed by the desk. Sandor waved for her to sit and Ferna sat with a slow movement. “I’ve got all the medicine prescribed him. Spoke to his therapist, Dr. Tarly, and he’s promised to come for home visits.”

“What about his medication? How will that be affected with all these?” Sandor asked as he glimpsed at the numerous pill bottles.

“He didn’t say,” Ferna said before rubbing her face, “could be that Gregor’s dosage of antipsychotics will work just fine, could be that they won’t.”

Sandor cursed under his breath and leaned back into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, “What did Dr. Qyburn say?”

Ferna was interrupted when a soft knock came to the door. She called out for them to open the door and watched how Gendry came in with a tea tray, setting it down on the desk before silently leaving them alone again. “Dr. Qyburn says that Gregor needs a nurse aide, to help us care for him until he’s fit enough to withstand physical therapy.” Ferna launched into explaining as she prepared two cups of tea. “For now though, the doctor’s main concern is the head injury.”

Sandor took the cup of tea with a murmured thanks and took a deep drink as he stared off to the side, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. “No one goes into his room alone, not until the doctor feels less skittish about it. I’ll go with you when it’s time for his medication, we don’t need him throwing a tantrum and not taking them.”

“He hasn’t made that mistake in years.” Ferna couldn’t help but say.

“But he has made it.” Sandor rasped as he tightened his hold on the cup.

Ferna said nothing just looked away as she sipped her tea. “What about the nurse aide?”

“You really want to subject some poor fool to Gregor? He’s always a cunt when he isn’t feeling good.” Sandor said with a shrug.

Ferna exhaled slowly, eyes closing against the sharp bitter tone in Sandor’s voice. “We need a medically trained person to help us.”

Sandor drinks the rest of his tea in silence, placing the cup back on the service tray and nods, “I’ll handle it. Anything else?”

Ferna wishes that she could just shake him, to break that cold mask that he’s worn since he was a child waking up with half his face wrapped in bandages. She doesn’t though. She simply takes the service tray and leaves him in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

“I _can’t_ work with him!”

Sandor glares down at the exhausted looking nurse, her blonde tresses mussed and heavy bags under her green eyes. “What has he done this time?”

“What hasn’t he done you mean?” The nurse hisses before pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s rude, uncooperative and derails his care. I’ve had difficult patients before, but he’s cruel. I can’t work in these conditions, I won’t.” Nurse Joanna glares up at the man, the scars becoming background to her after weeks in the same house. Her employer is an imposing man, tall and broad with a look in his eyes that made one double think before even opening their mouth to speak- but compared to his brother he’s a saint in her mind. “I am sorry Mr. Clegane but I’m giving my notice.”

Sandor resists the urge to curse and clenches his hands instead. “Right then. Take the day Nurse Joanna.”

Nurse Joanna nearly sags with relief at having a reprieve and murmurs a thanks before leaving the study. At the door she looks over her shoulder and sees how tightly her employer holds himself, his massive fists shaking with anger and his gaze staring out the window. She feels bad for him, but not bad enough to stay and endure Gregor Clegane’s cruel words.

Sandor waits until the nurse scampers away, waits until he can see her walk across the courtyard, and waits until he faintly hears the rumble of a car engine before he snaps. Grabbing the heavy paper weight on his desk he flings it with all his strength at the far wall, a snarl escaping his mouth as the paper weight crashes deep into the wall. Rage burning through his veins Sandor stalks out of the study and storms down the stairs, uncaring at how the household staff jumps out of his way, and strides down the shadowed hall where his brother’s staying.

Not bothering to knock Sandor throws open the door and sees Ferna jump at his sudden entrance, Gregor smirking at him from his bed. “Wipe that cunt look off you’re pathetic face Gregor. You, out.” Sandor hisses.

“But he has-” Ferna protests as she lifts the bowl of porridge.

“Out!” Sandor shouts, his nerves on end.

Ferna quickly leaves the room, porridge bowl in hand, not even stopping to close the door to the darkened room after her.

Gregor’s room smells of thick disinfectant and sick, the room dark with only a few weak beams of light shining through from the open door. Sandor stands by the door, his entire figure cloaked in shadow, glaring at his brother. Gregor’s a shadow of himself, sat upright on his massive bed pale and trembling as sweat lines his forehead. Sandor notices all this, wondering what Ferna and the nurse were doing about the fever that had laid Gregor out in addition to his wounds.

“What do you want pup?” Gregor asks with a narrowing of his eyes, his lips chapped and exhaustion filling his entire being.

Sandor clenched his fists harder, “The fuck do you think you’re doing, scaring off the nurse? That’s the third one since you got out of the hospital.”

Gregor snorts with dry amusement, “Fuck I care? She can’t handle a bit of criticism than I’m doing her favor by toughening her up.”

Sandor stalks forward, violence begging to be unleashed but Sandor pushes it back when he sees up-close just how pathetic his brother looks. Not only was Gregor trembling and sweating, but his eyes are red rimmed, his lips chapped to the point that the skin has cracked. Gregor had lost weight, an alarming amount for a man his size, and Sandor sneered at him. “Look at you,” he rasps out, eyes hard as he glares down at his brother, “not even strong enough to sit up on your own.”

“Enjoying this aren’t you pup?” Gregor hisses, his fevered eyes narrowing further and his hands clenching into fists.

“You deserve this you know. Divine retribution.” Sandor said with a dark smirk.

“I knew it.” Gregor snarled at him, hiding the sting of his little brother’s barb deep. “I knew that it wouldn’t be long until you came to gloat.”

“Not everything is about you Gregor,” Sandor said with growing fury, “this is about you not being able to fucking control yourself! Do you think it’s easy calling the goddamn nursing agency and explain how my shit of a brother has run off _another_ nurse?”

“Then get a fucking good one Sandor! Or is that too hard for you? I know how hard it is for you to speak to women, but this is just pathetic.” Gregor shoots back.

“Shut your goddamn mouth! How fucking dare you,” Sandor shouts, lunging forward to loom over is brother, “say that to me. After everything you’ve done to me-”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Gregor shouts back, not backing down from Sandor even if every nerve in his body was screaming at him to lay down, “when are you going to stop using that sob story to justify every failing that you have?”

Sandor was left speechless for a second before he slammed a fist down on the bed, missing Gregor by inches. “Sob story? You burned half my fucking face off you son of a bitch!”

“ _I_ didn’t burn your face!” Gregor screamed, gasping for breath.

“Yes you did you cunt! How the fuck are you going to deny it?” Sandor screamed right back. “That day is burned right into my fucking memory! I had nightmares for years, I was in pain for so long, _still_ in pain!”

“I was sick! I-” Gregor yelled before he stopped abruptly, his eyes stinging and his throat tight, “I was sick. I didn’t even really notice that you were in the room.” He confessed.

Sandor felt his chin tremble and silently berated himself for the weakness. Never in all the years since that day had he even gotten close to Gregor for them to talk about it. Years after it happened, just before his mother died and Gregor sent away for treatment, his mother had convinced his father to send Sandor to a therapist. Sandor had sat through all his visits with his mouth shut, already in the habit of not speaking about it. Now Sandor needed to know, he _needed_ to know why Gregor did what he did to him. He needed closure. “How the _fuck_ could you not notice I was in the room?” Sandor asked with heavy disbelief, willing his voice to stay even and not break.

Gregor looked away, his jaw working against the tide of guilt ,shame and rage. “I,” he started before he stopped to clear his throat, “I was outside before. Just walking. Father was yelling about something, I can’t remember, and mother was inside with Lenora. I remember getting annoyed, seeing shadows at the corner of my eye when father pushed me,” Gregor said in a stilted tone, “and I think I snapped at him because all I remember is him yelling at him to go to my room. The shadows, they were getting bigger and bigger- their clawed hands reaching out to me. One of them touched my cheek and I remember it felt so cold, it was like ice.” Gregor said with a frown. “I ran up the stairs, trying not to scream with fear as they chased me up. Always chasing me, laughing at me, whispering dark cruel things that they were going to do to me if I didn’t fight back. Calling me weak, saying that as soon as it got dark they’d rip me apart.”

Sandor said nothing, just stared at his brother with wide eyes as the hair on the back of his neck rose with every disturbing detail Gregor revealed.

“I ran to my room, outrunning them, and I remember trying to close the door against them. All I could see were their sharp teeth, liquid tar dripping down from their fangs as they laughed at me. My room was dark, I remember, too dark. The shadows were seeping through. Climbing out off the walls, rising up from the floor, just laughing and laughing and I wanted it to _stop_.” Gregor whispered with a trembling voice and sweat dripping down the side of his pale face as he remembered. “It was starting to get really cold, Ferna had left a fire burning low, so I-” Gregor said before he stopped and glanced at his little brother, “I grabbed whatever I could to throw into the fire to drive away the shadows. To drive away the cold. I thought,” here Gregor let out a long exhale, “I thought you were a shadow. When you fought back, I-I couldn’t deal with it. So I-”

“Punched me in the face. I landed too close to the fireplace and that stupid fucking toy that I was playing with landed in the fire and caused it to spit out sparks.” Sandor supplied with a flat voice.

“All I knew was that the shadows were laughing, and I couldn’t listen to them anymore. I _couldn’t_.” Gregor said with a tired voice that broke in the end.

Sandor remembered how Gregor had crouched down, screaming as he covered his ears. He remembered how he was pushing himself up when the drapes caught fire with the sparks. Sandor remembered the unbearable heat licking at his skin, the stench of him burning, his screams mixing with Gregor’s. How their screams grew heavy and shrill and stronger when Ferna burst into the room added her voice to the cries, their mother and father joining the growing crescendo of horror when they stepped in seconds later.

_Put it out!_

_Sandor!_

_Get Gregor out of here!_

_Call the ambulance!_

_Oh my poor baby! Nooooo!_

Closing his eyes against the memories Sandor stepped away from his brother’s bed. “You ruined my life.”

Gregor said nothing for a long moment, looking away, before he glanced at Sandor who looked like he was being running through. Eyes shut and face pulled into a grimace. Gregor gave a bitter smile, “Doesn’t look very ruined from where I’m sitting.”

“What the _fuck_ do you know? You don’t have to see people flinch when they see-” Sandor replied sharply, voice hoarse from shouting.

“I have one leg now Sandor. One.” Gregor cut him off sternly. “I’m a one legged man with mental health issues. I have to take medication every day of my life so I won’t hallucinate and hurt someone.” Gregor gave a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as he looked up at Sandor, “I’m not even able to be responsible of myself anymore. I’m your ward and cast-off. Yes I hurt you Sandor, and I am **sorrier** than I can say but don’t fucking think that I ruined your life you dumb sack of shit.” Gregor said with a hard expression. “You are free to do whatever the fuck you want, not having to wait for your younger sibling’s written approval. You’re the one dad left in charge, you hold all of our fates in your hands and what do you do?” Gregor said as a tear ran down his cheek. “You fuck off to Kings Landings and brood over the fact that you’re a fucking tortured soul, while Lenora is kept in the Keep raised by the housekeeper and I’m trying to keep sane in a prison cell with only Ferna as my visitor. Not one of my fucking family came to visit me, not even when mom had me sent to the Quiet Isle for treatment.” Gregor said bitterly. “It’s terrible what my issues caused you, but don’t fucking tell me that I ruined your life. You’re doing that quite well yourself,” Gregor snarled before lowering his fatigued body on the mattress, “so fuck off with your fucking _sob story_ and leave me alone like you’ve always done. I’m done talking to you.” Gregor said weakly, his limbs heavy, as he closed his eyes against the stricken bitter face of his brother.

“Fuck you Gregor.” Sandor rasped.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gregor said with a ghost of a smile, “I love you too.”

Sandor glared down at his brother, body held taunt with a swirl of rage and grief, before pushing himself back and out of the room. Staggering out of the room he saw a pale faced Lenora and Ferna by the door, “The fuck are you looking at?”

“Sandor-” Lenora said before stopping when she caught sight of the dangerous look in her brother’s grey eyes.

“He’s fallen asleep,” Sandor said through a clenched jaw, “wash him. I gave the nurse the day off. I’ll be busy with the calls, don’t bother me unless it’s life or death.” With that Sandor left, trying to outrun his problems and the revelation from Gregor.

 

* * *

 

 

Sandor sighed as he hung up with the nursing agency that serviced his location. They’d have to endure two and a half weeks before they could send out another nurse. Nurse number four had resigned just last week and Sandor was at his wits end.

Gregor was still under weight, temper still well in place, but at least his wound was healing. Dr. Qyburn had told him, when he had taken a surly Gregor to his follow-up, that his head injury had healed nicely. Dr. Tarly had said that luckily they didn’t need to change his dosage, but to call if they needed anything.

All things considered the past months of hell were finally bearing fruit, as in nothing had gone to shit since Sandor came back to the Keep.

Phone ringing loudly, breaking the rare moment of calm for Sandor, he looked at the phone screen and answered. “Bronn.”

“Hound.” the cheery man said.

Sandor couldn’t help but huff out an amused laugh, “What’s going on? The woman not like the price?” Sandor’s family had cultivated the land centuries ago, bought most of the surrounding area; over the years the town of West Keep grew and one ancestor had decided to invest in the land in the town. Now they had a block of real estate that they rented out. One house in particular, a two bedroom in a cul de sac, was for rent; the previous tenants moving to the Stormlands. Sandor had personally looked through the applicants and sent the woman’s application to Bronn for him to handle.

Sansa Stark.

Sandor had stared at the copy of her driver’s license, far longer than he was comfortable in admitting, before deciding on her. Even in black and white he could tell that she was beautiful, but that wasn’t why he had selected her. He had selected her because not only did the background check come back free of any charges, but she unlike the other tenants didn’t have any record of breaking rental leases.

“It was a bit too high for her.” Bronn admitted.

“Shame,” he said, genuinely sad to see a good candidate go, “I’ll send you the other applicant’s informa-”

“I might have told her that I’d knock down the price for her.” Bronn cut in, his voice cheery still.

Sandor blinked stupidly for half a minute, staring at the terrestrial globe that had been passed down his family since before he was born. Finally gathering his wits Sandor said evenly, “You did what?”

Bronn went quiet for a beat before shedding the cherry tone, “I spoke with her, like you asked, and something about her story seemed…incomplete. So I did what I do best, I charmed her.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “I am not approving the rent being lowered just so that you can get your dick wet.” Sitting down he began sorting through his papers while putting Bronn on speaker.

Bronn made a protesting noise, “It’s not like that you ass. She’s been through the ringer she has. If we can help her make a fresh start, then why can’t we?”

Sandor stilled, papers in his hands, feeling a bewildered look come over him. “The fuck are you talking about Bronn?”

“This girl, she’s managed to break free from a shit situation. Saved up money and willing to step out on her own, and I feel it in my gut that she can really start new in West Keep.”

Sandor frowned, “I didn’t know I was running a charity now.”

“Sandor, she’s been beaten down and she’s gained the strength to leave and build herself up again.” Bronn said curtly.

“She tell you all that?” Sandor asked with suspicion.

“Not in those exact words, but I read between the lines.” Bronn answered.

Sandor faintly heard Ferna calling out to Lenora to come and help her change Gregor’s bed sheets, the fucking cunt nagging on and on about having clean sheets every other day to the point that no one would have a decent’s night sleep if they didn’t do as Gregor willed, and felt tired. “Have you checked around if she’s telling the truth?”

“What do you take me for? An amateur?” Bronn asked offended. “I asked around the usual haunts and get this, Ms. Stark used to be engaged to one Joffrey Baratheon.”

“Fuck, the Lannister boy?” Sandor asked with raised brows. He’d only heard rumors, back when he lived in Kings Landings, when almost everyone he knew called him Hound, about the boy’s sadistic tendencies. Pulling open a drawer, he pulled out a copy of Stark’s driver’s license- feeling every inch of a fool by keeping it close so that he could ogle at it whenever he wanted.

“Yeah,” Bronn murmured into the phone, feeling as disturbed as the situation warranted, “that’s why I told her the price would be knock down for her if she was serious about leaving.”

Sandor said nothing, staring at the picture and hearing Lenora laugh as she made her way to Ferna. If Lenora ever needed to escape a situation like Ms. Stark’s, not that that would ever happen because Sandor would kill the cunt that dared to hurt his sister before letting Gregor off his leash, he’d want her to get away and fast. “How much?”

“Four hundred?” Bronn asked.

“Fuck,” Sandor sighed but caved into the request, “fine. Do it.”

“Thanks Sandor, I mean it. I’ll send you the revised contract after I speak to the girl.” Bronn assured.

“Yeah, fine.” Sandor dismissed, looking at her picture for a moment longer before locking it away.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fuck!”

Sandor closed his eyes tightly when he heard his brothers enraged yells. It was filled with rage and humiliation and despair. It hurt Sandor, made him flinch, hearing his brother’s cries as the nurse cleaned his stump.

“Stop it you fucking whore! Get out! Leave me be!” Gregor yelled.

Having enough Sandor almost ran to Gregor’s dark room and tried not to curse when he saw the nurse’s strained expression. Fuck, no doubt he’d be getting her resignation any time now. “I’ll handle it from here Nurse Hilda.”

Hilda quietly stood and pulled off her gloves on her way out of the room, her shoulders held tightly and her face brittle from stress. “Thank you.” She whispered.

Sandor stepped to the side to let her pass and closed the door behind her. Walking to the side where the dresser was, the counter littered with medical supplies, he pulled on gloves and went to sit by his brother’s bed. Gregor said not a word, his lips pulled taunt as pain carved its way into his face. They’d been weaning him off slowly form the pain medication, wary of him getting addicted, so lately everyone in the Keep was subjected to Gregor’s verbal abuse.

Sandor said nothing as he unapologetically began to clean the wound. He didn’t flinch when the screams started, Gregor trying to hold the pain in and failing. He didn’t flinch when the screams died down into something more horrible, broken whimpers that tore at Sandor. Sandor didn’t flinch when he heard Gregor cry because his stump was too sensitive to the point that prolonged contact hurt him.

Finished Sandor stood, throwing away the gauzes and gloves and washing his hands in the bathroom, before going to the dresser to get the pain pills. He knew from speaking to Ferna that Gregor’s hadn’t had a pill since yesterday, and fuck if he wasn’t going to help ease Gregor’s pain. Doling out two white pills, he helped Gregor gulp them down before gently wiping the sweat and tears off Gregor’s face and quietly leaving when his older brother began to fall sleep from the exhaustion.

Sandor left the bleak room and numbly went to his room. Undressing, not caring that it was the middle of the day, he sluggishly went under the covers and closed his eyes. “Fuck.” He murmured as he eyes stung and his throat tightened.

 

* * *

 

 

“Lenora pay attention.” Sandor said sharply as he held the wicker basket tightly in his arms.

Lenora, matching her brother who was dressed in all black and a haggard look on his scarred face, sheepishly nodded before looking to the vet. “Sorry.”

Sandor didn’t say anything, just kept his gaze on Stranger, who seemed to know what was going to happen to him.

“He won’t feel any pain. He’ll just to sleep.” The vet, an older woman with soft brown eyes and an even softer voice, assured them while looking to the tall brooding man with a basket full of puppies in his muscled arms and the tall young girl with the same sad grey eyes.

Sandor couldn’t speak, just telling his sister to listen to the vet was a trial. His heart was breaking. His best friend was lying on that table, underweight and shaking with pain, and still Stranger wagged his tail when he caught sight of his scarred ugly face.

Goddamn it.

Sandor wanted to rage at the world, pound his fists on something until it broke and curse at anyone that would listen. Stranger was his. Ever since he was a pup. He’d been there, for years, not caring that Sandor’s face wasn’t pretty. Clearing his throat Sandor stepped close and lowered his torso until Stranger was sniffing at the small little puppies that bore their sire’s black fur. “Even with a bad hip you still managed to snare yourself a bitch, you fucking sly dog.” Sandor said with a smirk and his heart in his throat. “If you can do it, then I guess there’s hope for me yet.” Laughing with a brittle tone Sandor cleared his throat again. “I’ll take care of them boy, don’t you worry about that.”

Lenora stepped up close, petting the dog that she rarely saw but always loved, and took the basket from her brother. “I’ll be outside.”

Sandor gave a stiff nod, vision blurring. Once alone, with the doctor standing to the side, Sandor gathered Stranger in his arms and felt tears run down his face at how light his dog had gotten. Sitting on the bench, Sandor nuzzled Stranger not letting the doctor get close. “I love you boy, never forget that. I am going to miss you, so much.” Sandor said with a broken voice and a small sob. With a jerk of his head, Sandor closed his eyes as he held Stranger close feeling his heartbeat against his palm before it slowed down to a stop. Stranger gave one final breath, nuzzling his head against Sandor’s and fell asleep, forever.

Sandor gathered his beloved dog in his arms, crying silently as he hid his face against soft fur. Minutes later, feeling like seconds and years to a mourning Sandor, two techs came in and silently asked for Stranger- their eyes shining with compassion. Tightening his hold for a second, Sandor took a deep breath before he stood and slowly handed over the one being in the whole entire world that he loved with no reservations. “H-he’ll have a private cremation correct?” Sandor asked as tears ran down his face.

“Yes,” the vet told him gently as the two techs quietly and respectfully took Stranger away, “your sister picked out the cedar box and inscription. He’ll be ready in a few days.”

Sandor took in a shaking breath and tried to get a hold of himself. “It’s just, he-”

“I know.” Dr. Nan said with aching softness. “We’ll take good care of him.”

“I just couldn’t see him in pain anymore, couldn’t bear t-to hear his cries.” Sandor said in a rush.

“There was nothing else that you, or we, could have done. He’s no longer in pain and he went asleep knowing that he was loved.” Dr. Nan said in a comforting tone.

Sandor breathed in deeply, forcing himself to count his breaths before wiping his face with his hands. “Thank you doctor.”

“Don’t thank me Mr. Clegane,” Dr. Nan said with a sad smile, “this is one aspect of my job that I’ll never get used to. The only comfort I have is that Stranger is no longer in pain and to see that he was so beloved. Thank _you_ for making such a hard decision, for helping Stranger rest in peace.”

Sandor took that little bit of comfort and clasped the doctor’s hand before walking out. Lenora sat by the doors, leaning down to pet the sleeping puppies, before she looked up with red rimmed eyes.

“They woke up a few minutes ago, crying out. It’s like they knew.” She said with a thick voice before standing and grabbing the basket in her arms. “Here,” Lenora said as she passed him the basket, “I’ll drive.”

They walked out into the sun, both quiet with the loss of Stranger, and to where the black truck was parked. Sandor numbly climbed into the back of the truck, his eyes never leaving the fat little bodies of Strangers litter curled around each other. As Lenora silently drove them out of the city, she kept her eyes on the road tears escaping to trail down his pale face as she heard her brother’s stifled cries in the back.

This was a different type of heartbreak, Lenora realized with a painful sting. This was a grief that was soul deep. Sandor had raised Stranger since he was a puppy. Weeks old and having to be bottle fed since he was found whimpering by the side of the road. Stranger was not only Sandor’s constant companion, he was Sandor’s child almost.

The two Clegane’s were silent went they reached the Keep, Sandor going to his room with the basket full of Strangers puppies in his iron clad grip that warned anyone to try and take them from him. Lenora watched silently as Sandor disappeared into his room before going to Gregor’s room. The only light that was shining was from the glare of the TV. Lenora sat on the bed, leaning back on the pillows and lavender scented sheets. Ferna must have changed them today, she thought as she watched Elizabeth Bennet dance wildly at a party right before Mr. Darcy was slated to appear. It never ceased to amaze her just how much of a sap Gregor was, under all that shit attitude.

“How is he?” Gregor asked quietly.

Lenora glanced at him and saw that Gregor had pulled on a black shirt for the occasion. “Not good.”

Gregor sighed, “Figured. That dog was everything to him.”

“Picked up Strangers puppies today, I think they’re the only thing holding Sandor together right now.” Lenora said as she watched Elizabeth and her friend Charlotte hide behind a bench, overhearing Mr. Darcy cut them to the quick.  

“How many of them?”

“Six.”

Gregor nodded as he watched his favorite movie, “Good, poor bastard. Hide the sour red.”

Lenora sighed, “Already told Ferna.” The last thing they needed was a stressed out Sandor, wrecked with grieving, drunk on his ass.

 

* * *

 

 

Gendry came to the kitchen, his tool box set on the table as he silently watched Sandor train the six gangly legged puppies.

“So?” Sandor asked as he gave his puppies treats after they all sat down like he ordered.

“Easy enough fix, Mott didn’t wire-”

“Not that,” Sandor cut him off, turning to look at him from over his shoulder, “the woman.”

Gendry blinked in quiet surprise and shrugged, “She’s a decent sort I suppose. Very nice. Seamstress she is.”

Sandor withheld the urge to snap at the boy and shake him until he spilled all the details of the woman. “What does she look like?”

Gendry gave his boss a curious look but said nothing about it, “She’s tall, with long red hair and light blue eyes. She talks like she’s from high society, but she’s decorated the house in warm cozy colors.” Gendry licked his lips and shrugged, “She wanted us to tell you thank you, for responding so quick.”

Sandor stilled and shrugged, “I’m the landlord, it’s my job. Thanks Gendry.” He waited until Gendry left before sighing and looking down at the six black dogs. “Wouldn’t be saying thank you to me if she sees my face.” The puppies all tilted their heads at him before yipping and wagging their tails. Sandor grinned and gave them all head rubs, “Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I hear Walda’s back in town.” Lenora said casually as they ate breakfast.

Sandor rubbed his tired eyes, “And?”

“She’s a nurse.”

Sandor paused and looked at his sister that was slowly losing her brattiness and acting like a mature young woman now that Sandor had taken her under heel these past months.

Lenora stuffed her toasted bread with egg before pausing to return her brothers look, “Mr. Frey needed someone to look after him and he sent for Walda, but Ferna tells me that Wylla, the housekeeper at Frey House, says that Old Frey doesn’t need a nurse aide; just that he doesn’t want to admit that needs a walker to get around.”

Sandor hummed as he grabbed his mug of black coffee, taking a deep drink that soothed his exhausted mind. “You thinking of asking Fat Walda to take care of Gregor?”

Lenora frowned, “Don’t call her that. It’s been a long time but Walda was the only Frey to play with me. She didn’t care that I was younger than her.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, “Oh well, pardon me.”

Lenora took a sharp bite of her bread and said nothing until she was finished. “So?”

Sandor, who was happily cutting into his bacon, sighed, “So what Lenora?”

“Are you going to call her?”

Sandor put down his utensils and resisted the urge to throw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, _yes_. Happy? Now can I please go back to my fucking breakfast?”

Lenora grinned and nodded, ignoring her brothers narrowed look that screamed that one more word from her and he’d kick her out the kitchen.

Later after his sister left the kitchen, after washing her plate under his watchful eyes, Sandor retreated into his study and grabbed his father’s phone book. Flipping through, he found the phone number to Frey House and dialed. It wasn’t long until the other end picked up and even quicker for Sandor’s ear to be filled by a young preppy voice that already was grating his strung out nerves.

“Helloooo?”

“Hello Fat Walda.” Sandor greeted.

A soft snort drifted through the headpiece of the phone, “Sandor Clegane, finally remember the little people ey?”

“You’re anything but little Fat Walda.” Sandor said with a hint of a grin.

“Oh ha ha, think of that yourself?” Walda said before laughing. “It is good to hear you Sandor! God how long has it been?”

“Too long, how’s the family?” Sandor asked politely.

“Fertile that’s how!” Walda nearly squealed before laughing.

Sandor shook his head as a reluctant smile wormed his way across his lips. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen Walda since she was ten or so, the chubby little girl that he remembered was still the same. “What’s the count at now?”

“Thirty-nine and counting. Kitty, my father’s newest wife who is I’d say thirty or forty years his junior, is pregnant. Any day now we’ll have another Frey join the ranks.” Walda said with a cherry chirp.

“Fucking Christ, I see Old Frey isn’t slowing down- even with a walker.” Sandor said with awe.

“Ah,” Walda said with flourish, “you heard about that huh?”

“Yeah,” Sandor said before biting the bullet, “look I’m calling because I need a nurse here at the Keep. Long term, until he can do without the help.”

Walda said nothing for a beat, “Who?”

“Gregor.” Sandor said with a hard voice.

“Oh my, what happened to him?” Walda asked with genuine concern.

“He fucking fell in ravine, his leg wound got infected to the point of sepsis so they had to amputate.” Sandor said clinically.

Walda gave a horrified gasp, “Poor Gregor, my God that’s terrible.”

“Yes, well. He’s alive.” Sandor added as he gave a shrug that she couldn’t see. “Alive and a pain in my fucking ass. He’s run off every goddamn nurse that I hire from the agency. It’s come to the point that they almost don’t want to send another nurse out. Big fucker is a fucking nuisance that I’m just about to fucking dump his whining giant ass outside and fuck all the rest.” He ranted before finally managing to bite his tongue.

“Well,” Walda said carefully, “he has gone through a trauma.”

“Trauma my ass Fat Walda, you’ve seen my face. Gregor’s just being a cunt that can’t behave himself.” Sandor snarled before sighing tiredly. “Look, I’ll pay you double your rate alright? I need a nurse here like yesterday.”

Walda hummed before replying, “Double you say?”

“Yes and you have to start Monday.” Sandor said quickly.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” Walda said after a minute of silence.

“Thank God.” Sandor said with relief.

“Do you have his medical treatment plan?” Walda asked.

Sandor said yes before he was opening drawers and pulling out a file. They spent the next half hour going over Gregor’s medical history and by the time they hung up Sandor was feeling more hopeful than he did when he woke up.

 

* * *

 

 

“No wonder he’s been acting like a spoilt brat, look at this!” Walda cried out dramatically as she flung her arm out and waved about the place.

Sandor looked around and shrugged, “What’s wrong with it?’

Walda gave him a wide-eyed look, “What’s wrong with it? It’s dark! Patients need light, fresh air, not doom and gloom that will spiral their emotions into a pit of despair.”

Sandor rolled his eyes at Walda antics. She was just as fat as he remembered, only now she seemed more…solid and less pudgy. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, her brown eyes bright as they scanned the hallway leading to Gregor’s room, and a nice calming set of pale blue scrubs. “Gregor was the one that wanted it this dark.”

“And you listened to him?” Walda asked with disbelief. “The man doesn’t know what he wants, just that he’s in pain.”

Sandor made a face and nearly took a step back when Walda whirled around to face him. “The fuck Fat Walda?”

“Take me to him.” Walda said in an eerie voice.

Sandor gave her a searching look before shrugging, “Alright, this way.” Walking down the hall, stopping every five seconds because Walda would open every drape on the way there to let in the sunlight, they arrived a few minutes later at Gregor’s door.

“It’s bigger than I remember.” Walda said with a hint of nervousness.

“Well, Gregor’s taller also. Don’t worry I’ll be in there with you so don’t worry.”

Walda hummed in agreement.

Sandor gave her another look before opening the door to the darkened room and stepped inside.

“The fuck do you want pup?” Gregor growled from his spot on the bed. “Who’s that?”

“Charming as ever I see.” Walda said flatly, her nerves fading at Gregor’s tone.

Gregor squinted through the dark and slowly smiled, “Is that Fat Walda?”

Sandor sighed before looking down at Walda, but was surprised to see that the woman had left his side and was flinging open the heavy drapes. Sandor raised a hand to protect his eyes, Gregor wasn’t fast enough and hissed when the light shined on him.

“Fuck!” Gregor said before covering his eyes.

“Let’s open this to let in some fresh air,” Walda said happily as she opened the window, “smells like a boy’s locker room in here.”

“Fuck off Fat Walda, no one asked you to do any of that bitch.” Gregor growled.

“What a nice breeze! Oh look another window!” Walda went on to say loudly with a manic smile and a determined glint in her eyes.

Sandor slowly stepped out, watching how Gregor floundered under the weight of Fat Walda’s almost disturbing cheer. Walking out Sandor left and had the odd feeling that things were finally looking up.

 

* * *

 

 

Almost two weeks after Walda came to work at the Keep, Sandor feels like he can finally breathe. Gregor is well in hand, still a fucking cunt but more tolerable. Lenora is busy now a days looking online to see what she’d like to study for college, and his pups are growing fast into adulthood.

He’s giving them a bath when Walda approaches him, Gregor out in his wheelchair and parked close-by. Sandor remember that explosive fight. Walda had come close to punching Gregor in the throat when he resisted the idea to climb out of bed and get in the chair.

_It’ll make it more real! A fucking cripple!_

Sandor had held back a flinch when Gregor screamed that out, his eyes bright with angry tears as he glared at Walda from his seat on the bed.

_You are not a cripple Gregor Clegane! You have a leg AND a working knee! That’s more than others! Once you’ve built up your strength I can show you all about prosthetics, you’ll walk again I swear it!_

Sandor had never felt so grateful in his life then when Walda stepped into his home. Gregor’s ire, dangerous even with is medication, had softened towards her after that. Everyone else was fair game though Sandor noted.

“What do you want Fat Walda?” Sandor asked as he wrestled with Knight in order to wash his under belly.

“So,” she began, looking frayed at the edges, “Gregor’s clothes.”

“I’m going to stop you there Fat Walda,” Sandor said as he gave Knight a sharp look that had the black dog stilling in attention, “I’m paying you a fucking king’s ransom to watch over him. Use your fucking good judgment alright?” He was going to have to give her a few days off to recharge, judging by how strained she looked.

Walda pursed her lips at him, “You’re a real gentlemen Hound.”

“Fuck Bronn.” Sandor cursed as he grabbed the hose.

“Well,” Walda said with a saucy grin, “if you say so boss.”

Sandor jerked and stared at her, “ _Walda_.”

Walda threw her head back to give a cackle, “You and Sansa both sound just alike just then.”

Sandor shook his head, “Are you done?”

“Yes,” Walda said with a giggle, “anyways I’ll let you know when my seamstress comes over.”

Sandor grunted and went back to washing his dogs.

 

* * *

 

 

“A car just arrived Sandor.” Gendry said as he wiped his hands on his pants.

Sandor lifted his head, still hunched over with the hoe breaking into the oil that they were going to use to plant carrots. “Must be the seamstress that Fat Walda’s bringing for Gregor.”

“Must be Ms. Stark then, she’s the only one close by and I’ve seen Walda around that part of town.” Gendry said casually as he leaned against his own hoe where he was readying the soil to plant tomatoes.

Sandor gave Gendry a look before really looking at his clothes, “Is that who mended your clothes?”

Gendry nodded, “Looks like they were my size to begin with don’t it?”

Sandor nodded, seeing how natural his old work shirts and pants looked on the boy. His attention was wrenched away from thoughts of Ms. Stark and her talented fingers when he saw his dogs’ race by like wild animals. “The fuck?” He put down the hoe and watched as Ferna chased after them. Sandor didn’t need to be told that the dogs gave the old housekeeper the slip while she filled their bowls with food. “I’ll be back.”

Gendry nodded and went back to finishing readying the ground.

Sandor walked to the door that led into the kitchen, quickly crossing the distance and opening another door that led to the courtyard. He slowed as he saw Mr. Darcy, the ridiculously named pup that Gregor insisted on half owning, rear up and place his paws on a vision of red and cream.

So that must be the Sansa Stark.

Sandor stayed in the shadows for a minute longer, watching how the vivid red hair was pulled back from a finely sculpted face and into a braid. The woman had on a grey blouse, dark pants and dark shoes. It should have made her look washed out but it did the opposite, it heightened the pale of her skin and the bright color of her hair. She was a tall woman, towering over Walda, and slender. Even from this distance Sandor could see that even though she was tall, she’d still have to look up at him.

Staring at her Sandor watched how Mr. Darcy was intent on licking her face. Smirking he stepped forward, enough to be seen but still remain hidden from clear view, “Down!” He watched as Mr. Darcy went down to his feet, the woman hunching down a bit before righting herself. Sandor resisted the urge to laugh.

“Sandor, this is Sansa,” Walda said happily, “we’re heading to Gregor now.”

Sandor said nothing, just watched as Walda smiled next to her tall companion. Curiously enough the Stark woman stepped forward. Sandor responded by stepping back. As much as she amused him, and as much as her beauty hit him with the strength of a sledgehammer, he wasn’t about to let her see his face.

Sansa Stark smiled in his direction, “Hello Mr. Clegane! I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Sandor smiled a bitter smile, girl wouldn’t be smiling at him if she saw his face. “Was nothing Ms. Stark, glad that you like the house. I’ll be sending Gendry later on to re-inspect, make sure it’s up to standards so you won’t have trouble like last time again.”

Sansa stayed where she was, smiling still, “Thank you.”

“Walda, you need anything call Gendry. He should be about the place.” Sandor said as he stepped further back into the shadows, wanting to get away from Stark and her bright smiles.

“Oh? And what are you going to be doing?” Walda asked with a raised brow and a hand on her hip.

“Fucking work Fat Walda, the fuck else?” Sandor snapped before disappearing from sight. “Eat!” He ordered and the dogs leaped forward across the yard to where they were housed. He stayed by the door, the dogs racing by him, and watched as the two women walked across the courtyard and disappeared from his sight.

Sansa Stark, he mused as he went back to help Gendry, must never see his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Standing by the entrance of the Keep, Sandor watched from the shadows as Sansa Stark pulled away and waved in his direction. Sandor didn’t bother to wave back, the less he interacted with her the better…for his own sanity.

 


	3. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he wasn’t beautiful but Sansa knew that going in. Yet, even with his burns the strong characteristics shone through. The hard square jaw, the strong nose, the heavy brooding brow. His impressive physique, his strong gait. Everything about him screamed power and it made Sansa hungry for more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while!!!! 
> 
> I've been swept up in a surge of creativity in another fandom. All I gotta say in my defense is: Billy Hargrove. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the third chapter. Kinda short compared to what I usually put out there, but this story needed to move onto the next level. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

“ _Sansa, dear, please reconsider_.”

Sansa withheld a sigh as her mother’s voice assaulted her ears from over the phone.

Years had passed with Sansa not seeing her mother, her life- if you could have called it that when she lived with Joffrey- in Kings Landing making it near impossible to see any of her family. After so long apart, did Sansa even want to see them again? The Starks were known to be close knit; Sansa wondered where that close unity was when she was choking back tears as Joffrey was in one of his moods and taking it out on her.

A small dark part of herself hissed that her family lost the right to ever have any say in her life the moment they didn’t see the damn signs.

The larger part of herself argued that how could they have known? Sansa had put on the best performance of her life whilst with the golden terror.

Regardless, both parts agreed that even if her family had not known the true extent of her relationship with Joffrey that they should have visited more. Instead they had left her to rot in Kings Landing by herself, surrounded by Lannister’s and Baratheon’s who more invested in their cups and their whoring than to pay attention to the diminishing little Stark girl.

Maybe that was why she had become small and quiet to the point that when Sansa had looked in the mirror, eyes always lowered that it had taken minutes before she was able to look at her reflection, she didn’t recognize herself. Sansa had withdrawn into herself, bit her tongue so much that the taste of her blood became ingrained in her memory- the sting of her teeth no longer making her wince. She had become a hunched quiet woman, blue eyes always lowered to stare at the floor that only spoke when prompted to; and even then sometimes it would trigger Joffrey’s anger that resulted in sleeping on her stomach for a day or two.

Just remembering had Sansa curling her hands tightly on her phone, anger making her blood hot. Never again would she be made to feel that she _owed_ anyone _anything_. Never again was she going to feel like she had to bend to anyone else or submit to anyone’s manipulation; never again bite her tongue.

Her parents were blind to the signs, as was she, when it came to Joffrey Baratheon. Her parents, because Joffrey was Robert Baratheon’s son, and Sansa because he was handsome and everything that she had ever dreamed for. But after…Sansa had willingly taken the risk of being caught in order to call her mother for help. Sansa knew, after hours of crying and wishing for someone to save her, that the only one that could save her, was herself.  

So she did.

_Sansa, dear, every couple has their arguments. You can’t just run at the first fight, you’re a woman now. Time for you to stand on your own. I’m sure that you and Joffrey can talk it out._

Sansa had sat huddled in the bathroom, staring at the pristine white marble in disbelief at what her mother was telling her. Sansa had stopped breathing, knowing that her mother either wasn’t hearing her or wasn't getting it. So Sansa had tried once more to try and tell her mother that she needed her, that Sansa needed her family to help her leave King’s Landing, but in that second Sansa heard the door open. With her mother’s voice filling her ear, Sansa looked up from the marble tile and locked eyes with the chilling eyes of her fiancé. Joffrey filled the doorway, eyes cold, and simply held his hand out for the phone. Sansa swallowed, knowing the pain that was to follow, and had done the only thing that she could. She told her mother that she loved her, to tell her family that she loved them and hung up.

It wasn’t until months later when Sansa had finally broken free from Joffrey that she had realized that until that day, her family never had cause to suspect the true nature of her ex-fiancé.

Still didn’t change the fact that Sansa resented them.

Now, Sansa walked about her house and stood her ground. “No mother. I’m not telling you where I live. Like I told father, email me the particulars and if I can I will see you all at Winterfell.”

Catelyn Stark stood in her kitchen with a pursed mouth, “Very well. I’ll send you the invitation. Oh, by the way, Harry will be in attendance. You remember him don’t you dear?”

Sansa made a face, “I remember but like I told you, mother, I am not interested.”

“Sansa, it’s almost been a year since Joffrey. Surely it’s been long enough?” Catelyn said politely, if not coldly. It wasn’t right for a young woman such as her daughter to be alone. Sansa always wanted a family, a home of her own. Now that her daughter was single it shouldn’t be a problem for her to find a man, but ever since Sansa had left King’s Landing Catelyn’s daughter had been different. Although, Catelyn thought, that might have to do with what she had been told in confidence. It seemed too horrid to even considering it being true, but…but her daughter’s behavior suggested that the whispers might hold some truth. And if they did, then Gods be good how in the seven hells could she have missed it? Catelyn prayed that the whispers weren’t all true. She also hoped that by having a new beau, a different kind of man, would help Sansa.

Sansa’s mouth twisted bitterly, but she resisted the urge to growl at her own mother. Since she had escaped Joffrey, publicly breaking their engagement and using the chaos that erupted to flee, Sansa hadn’t told her family just **why** she had left the man that she had been betrothed to since childhood. Like her mother had said, she was a woman now and had to stand on her own. “I am not interested, so call Harry or whoever it is that you spoke to and convey my disinterest. I can just as easily not go to Winterfell for the holiday’s mother.” Sansa said as she stopped in her living room and glared at her reflection from the television screen.

Sighing heavily Catelyn bowed in defeat, “Okay Sansa, just…please come for the holidays. We all miss you terribly. We’ve…we’ve been hearing whispers about your time in King's Landing and-and I…just please promise that you’ll come home.”

Sansa stopped breathing, staring wide eyed at her TV and seeing her thin shadowy reflection waver. “I promise.” It was all she could say in her stunned mood.

“Okay, okay great. Thank you, I’ll tell you father.” Catelyn said softly.

Sansa nodded and slowly exhaled a long breath, “I have to go mother.”

“I-” Catelyn said before abruptly changing tactics, “alright. Goodbye Sansa.”

“Bye.” Sansa said before hanging up and lowering herself onto the couch. She sat there, quiet as her mind raced as to what her family could have heard and by whom. Sansa knew that Cersei would never allow even a shadow of a doubt taint the golden reputation of her first born. Robert was so immersed in his own greatness that the only time he bothered with his son was when it encroached into the Baratheon business.

No, the leak would have had to come from somewhere else.

Sansa narrowed her eyes as the memory of a quirked lip and playful eyes sparked in her mind.

Margery Tyrell.

Of course it would be her. Sansa leaned back into the cushions, eyes squeezing shut as she cursed under her breath. Sighing, Sansa shrugged her shoulders and slowly opened her eyes. It didn’t matter what Margery said or didn’t say. Sansa was free, Joffrey wasn’t her problem anymore and the only beings that knew where Sansa lived was the post office, Mr. Hill, Gendry, Walda and Sandor.

Sandor Clegane.

Sansa sighed once more, this time with yearning, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest. Gods she was so pathetic, pinning weirdly after a man that firstly didn’t even want to show his face to her and more importantly that Sansa didn’t even know who he really was besides her landlord. That _should_ have been a blaring sign to Sansa to back off and drop her odd obsession with the man.

But…

Then again, Sandor Clegane not showing his face to her might because of whatever trauma that the man had survived and not actually due to some rejection or disinterest on his part.

And _wasn’t_ that a can of worms, eh?

Having met Gregor Clegane, and Gods just the size of him made something in Sansa want to run and hide, Sandor’s older brother really sunk things in for her. Gregor was an asshole, but not much of an asshole that Sansa had been expecting. He had done something horrible to his siblings, Sandor in particular, due to the negligence of his parents. Gregor had to live with the hurt that he had done to his little brother and sister, had to live with taking medication all his life, had to live with knowing that he had killed a man because of his _own_ negligence with his medication and now Gregor had to live with one leg.

So much pain, so much heartbreak. Sansa wondered how anyone could come out of that with even a shred of hope.

The Clegane family seemed to be wrapped in an impenetrable shroud of pain and sorrow.

Sighing again Sansa pressed her face against the cushion. What she _should_ do is forget all about Sandor Clegane, forget this-this _fascination_ with him and move on. Did she really want to involve herself with a man that might not even _want_ her attentions? Did she really want to involve herself with a family that has known nothing but pain? A family that is bound to have so many issues that it made hers seems so small? Sansa breathed in deeply the smell of her fabric softener and exhaled slowly, eyes closing slowly.

No. It was too late for her. The hooks of curiosity and intrigue were already entrenched deep within her soul. Chuckling sadly to herself, Sansa rubbed her head hard against the cushion.

Sansa knew that she wouldn’t stop; it was a flaw in her personality. Sansa was always drawn to men who hurt her. Although, it’s not fair to paint Sandor Clegane with the same brush as Joffrey Baratheon. Sandor hasn’t hurt her yet, but he would. Sansa could feel it in her bones. The crux of it all was then this, knowing what she knew- was Sansa **still** going to follow the thread that would lead her to Sandor? It will hurt her, it’s the question of if Sansa was willing to be hurt?

 **That** was the difference between the situation with Joffrey to this one with Sandor. This was going to be Sansa’s choice through and through. Not some archaic agreement between to old bloodlines to merge their houses. Not by threat of violence to make Sansa stay and have no sense of worth. No, this was Sansa, safe and with no outside influence, making a decision to go after Sandor Clegane- consequences and all.

Sansa lifted her head and looked out the window, sunlight pouring in through the thin curtains to shine softly upon her face. It all depended on the levels of hurt really. Would it be a bad hurt, the kind that made Sansa feel as if she’d wish she were dead and unfeeling? The kind of hurt that she withstood by Jeffrey’s side.

Or…

Would it be the good hurt? The kind that reminded you that feeling _anything_ was worth it all, worth more than feeling numb and uncaring towards anything? The kind of hurt that made you open your eyes and breathe in sharply, the kind that forces you to realize that there is blood pumping through your veins, nerves singing with awareness and made your brain process at the speed of light. The kind of good hurt that made you appreciate things in life, appreciate that you experienced new things and took a damn risk.

Put in that perspective, Sansa would be a fool to not take the risk.

 

* * *

 

“Today we met the physical therapist.” Walda said with a sigh before taking a large drink of her wine.

Sansa, bent over to check on her lasagna in the oven, looked up with a questioning hum.

“It went about as well as expected.” Walda said before taking another steadying gulp.

Sansa cringed, “So more awful than when he met me, huh?”

“Gods, I thought there was going to be a death match in that room.” Walda said as she put the empty wine glass on the kitchen counter. “Sandor went through the list of therapists available to come to the Keep. _That’s_ another horror story in itself,” Walda said with a roll of her eyes, “and chose the only one tall enough, and more importantly **strong** enough, to work with Gregor.”

“What’s his name?” Sansa asked as she grabbed oven mitts and opened the oven door, face tightening when the blast of hot air hit her.

“She.” Walda corrected as she poured herself more wine.

Sansa put the hot tray of lasagna on the stove top and slowly closed the oven door, “What?”

“It’s a She, not a He.” Walda repeated, eyes locked on the dark colored wine.

“Gods be good, you’ve seen her?” Sansa asked, fascinated with the idea of a woman that was _that_ tall and _that_ strong. Sansa was no means short herself, but even she knew that she was no match for the infamous Clegane height.

Walda nodded, “Beast of a woman, and I say that with all the respect and awe that I can muster.”

Sansa can feel her brow burrowing with confusion, “What?”

“Woman’s the same height of Sandor. Gods when I first saw her I thought she was a man, but no she’s all woman. Short blonde hair that looks about as brittle as wheat and the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” Walda sighed out as she shook her head. “Pity that she’s not pretty.”

“There are worse things than not being pretty. Sometimes a pretty face can hide a monstrous soul.” Sansa said grimly as she turned away, taking off the oven mitts.

There’s was a long pause of silence, the air so thick with an awkward tension that Sansa almost regretted saying what she had said.

“True enough.” Walda conceded after a while, as she gave Sansa a look wondering not for the first time just what happened to the redhead to make her so sullen at times. “Sandor hates her, I think she hates him in return. Gregor is throwing a prissy fit at them both, which doesn’t fool me a bit about why he’s acting like a baby. Lenora is mad at them both for being a pair of asses, and of course I’m the only sane one in that mad house that has to put up with it all.” Walda bemoaned, head shaking at the mess of things at Clegane Keep.

Sansa hummed as she went to her fridge, pulling it open and taking out the salad kit bag that she had gotten from the store. “Why?”

“Why what?” Walda said in dismay.

“Why do they hate each other?” Sansa asked with casualness, when in reality all she wanted to do was throw the salad bag onto the countertop and squeeze every detail from her friend. Gods, one would think that Sansa had never had a life before coming to West Keep.

“Well, I think she hates Sandor- or at the most dislikes him greatly- because of how coarse he is. Brienne, that’s her name by the way, first met Sandor when he and Gregor were having one of their awful rows. The things that Sandor yelled at Gregor, and what Gregor yelled in return, well…” Walda said with a resigned shrug, “…since then Brienne has been giving Sandor the cold shoulder. Poor girl has an air of naivety about her that’s probably toxic to the inhabitants of Clegane Keep. Sandor, of course, has given two shits about it- his words- but I can see it getting to him.” Walda admitted with a thoughtful look on her face. “Sandor always goes on and on about not caring about what people think, but I’m starting to think that he cares more than he lets on.” Shrugging she looks to her friend with a crooked grin. “I think the only reason he hasn’t fired her, besides the fact that Brienne can manhandle Gregor out of bed, is because the way she reacted when first seeing him. Woman didn’t even so much as blink at him. Just introduced herself and went to work straight away.” Walda said as she raised her glass, “Like I said, beast of a woman.” With that Walda saluted the air and drank her wine.

“Keep on that track and you’ll be drunk.” Sansa threw out there as she tossed the salad before bringing it to the kitchen counter, the lasagna cooling still. So, Sandor wasn’t only sensitive about her seeing his face. It extended to everyone, and apparently has experience with people reacting poorly to whatever damage he has.

Sansa burns with curiosity. It’s not right, but she burns just the same.

“That’s the point Sansa. I need to drink until I’m drunk, relieve some stress since there are no men that I can devour in West Keep.” Walda says with a playful look.

Sansa shook her head, a grin tugging at her lips, “You’re awful, you know that?”

“Yes, dear I know. Ramsey has been an awful influence, but needs must Sansa. Speaking of _needs_ , you’re a beautiful woman.” Walda started, giving Sansa a critical one over.

Sansa made a face, “Thanks…?”

“You’ve been here for over half a year, why haven’t I seen a trail of men at your door?” Walda asked with narrowed eyes as she shifted on the stool.

Sansa made a jerky movement, looking away to grab a wine glass of her own. “I’m…not interested in anyone here in town.” Which was the truth. Sandor didn’t live in town, but Walda didn’t need to know that now did she?

Walda also didn’t need to know just how far Sansa’s…. _interest_ ….in one Sandor Clegane went. Didn’t need to know how Sansa was itching to go back to the Keep and _somehow_ manage to bump into Sandor. Walda didn’t need to know that the sheer frustration was driving Sansa insane; yeah she definitely didn’t need to know that.

“Well, there’s not much out here to even entertain the thought truthfully. Gods know because I’ve tried looking.” Walda confided before helping Sansa with the plates and placemats.

Sansa bit into the inside of her cheek, knowing that Walda has no clue that the only man that has ever gotten under Sansa’s skin in **_years_** is Sandor Clegane. She doesn’t want to tell her either, wanting to keep her interest in the man to herself.

And, of course, to spare herself the incredulous looks and shocked gasps. Considering that Walda was the only one between the two of them that even _knew_ what Sandor looked like. Gods, it was all just a ridiculous mess. Here she was, a woman who could have almost any man that she wanted and the one man that she _does_ wants chooses to hide himself in the shadows from her.

Walda sighs as she grabs the wooden serving forks and puts some salad on their plates. “Look at us, two attractive women alone on a Saturday night. Gods be good.”

“Hey!” Sansa says offended.

“Not that you aren’t wonderful company, but when even _Sandor_ has plans with the opposite sex and one doesn’t- well.” Walda says with a tragic air before taking another large gulp of her wine.

Sansa freezes. Surely she didn’t hear what she heard…right? Sandor Clegane, the man who has gotten his hooks deep within her while being oblivious to her interest, is on a date? Mister- I don’t want anyone seeing my face? Mister- has the personality of a junkyard dog and the voice of gods’ damned sin? How the hells did this happen? And more importantly who the fuck was _she_?

The force of anger and jealousy lacing through her veins surprises Sansa, but not enough to stop. It’s not that it’s outside of the realm of possibility for Sandor to already have someone. Maybe…maybe his disinterest for her could be simply because he already has someone in his life. Sansa braces herself against that barbed possibility.

And yet somehow, that didn’t sit well with her. Yes, Sansa knew just how arrogant she was by thinking that Sandor couldn’t possibly have someone in his life that could be somehow _better_ than her. Sansa knew that she was beautiful. It’s not arrogance but a cold hard fact. Sansa knew that she turned men’s heads, was the main reason that Joffrey kept such a punishing grip on her. Because she was pretty and one thing that Joffrey liked was being surrounded by beauty. Liked being surrounded by it so he could sneer smugly at others. There was only person that could compete with her on that level, the thrice damned Margery and the brunette was in King’s Landing!

Or…

Maybe Sandor didn’t even _like_ women. He could be gay. That was a thing, and no amount of beauty that Sansa possesses can make-up for the lack of a certain body part.

Or…

Maybe she has this all wrong and is just being a crazy person. Maybe Sandor would never cross the professional relationship that they have.

Or….

While Sansa was having her mental crisis, frozen stiff and staring at her salad as her mind jumped from theory to theory, she has no idea that Walda is staring at her.  Sansa has no idea of how Walda’s stare starts to narrow in thought, in question, before they widen in a flare of realization.

Walda Frey was no lightweight. She was feeling nice and warm and most importantly sober. Walda had no idea why that little comment about Sandor had her friend stiffening up like a statue with a bewildered look in her blue eyes that was slowly- _weirdly_ \- turning into a darkened expression. Now see, Walda was a people-person; had to be in order to work around people all the livelong day. After a while, you get to understand what makes people tick- and boy was Walda seeing what made Red tick. Only she couldn’t believe it, but the proof is in the pudding as they say.

“Oh my Gods.” Walda breathed out as the proverbial light bulb went flashing on over her head with the power of a thousand suns. “Ohhhh myyyy Godddddsssssssssss.” She said again, loudly, dramatically, incredulously.  

Sansa blinked through the wave of heat that was burning her insides and looked at Walda. “Hmmm?”

Walda set aside her wine glass, because her Saturday night just got that much more interesting, and leaned forward- similar to how a bloodhound when it catches the scent of its prey. Grinning wickedly at her friend, who is doing her damnedest to look as pure as snow right now, Walda can’t help but hit the kitchen counter with her palm. “Oh my Gods! Sansa Stark you little devil you, who woulda thought!”

Sansa feels her stomach twist, “I have no idea what you’re on about, but that’s the last glass of Merlot you’re getting.”

Walda shakes her head, “Oh no, no, no no. You can’t fool me Red.”

Sansa, like all women, just instinctively _knows_ that the other woman _knows_. She can’t help but lock up, again, knuckles going white against her own wine glass. Still she tries to play it off. “So, how’s Ramsey doing?”

“Ramsey’s dong fine, making some ruckus or other about moving and how his therapist says he needs to socialize more. But you know what’s even more interesting than Ramsey and his slow- **slow** \- journey into becoming an upstanding member of society?” Here Walda grins wider, looking like a maniac. “The fact that you, Sansa Stark one of the most prettiest women that I’ve met, wants to get into Sandor Clegane’s pants!”

Sansa groaned as she poured wine into her glass and then proceeded to drink it all in one gulp. Now that it was out there, without her saying a word, she felt somehow liberated but also burdened. “I don’t know what I want with him, just that I **want**.” Sansa confessed after a long silence.

Walda, whose grin had faded at her friend’s reaction, raised her brows at that and did the only thing that she could do. She poured Sansa another drink, refilled hers, and they both sat there drinking away their problems.

 

* * *

 

**So, how do you even like him when you haven’t seen his face?**

**Walda can you just not?**

**Because he’s a dick, good guy or not.**

**He’s mysterious.**

**...You’re an idiot.**

**I know but I can’t help it**

**Fine. I’ll help you, Gods know I’m a sucker for romance.**

**You don’t have to, I didn’t even ask you for your help.**

**Please, you were practically screaming it from the mountaintops.**

**No, I wasn’t. In fact, I did the opposite.**

**You poor thing, say no more. Walda’s here to the rescue.**

 

* * *

 

Sansa was going through inventory, the smell of books and dust calming her, when suddenly a voice spoke up at her right.

“I mean you only met him once, but his face was hidden.”

Sansa shrieked, books falling to the ground as she jerked forward and side jumped away.

Walda stood with her brows raised nearly to her hairline, hands holding cups of coffee and a grimace. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought you had heard me come in.”

Sansa breathed in harshly, eyes wide and blood pumping fast before she slowly relaxed her limbs and reached out for the coffee. “Next time, can you call out my name please?”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just that you’re co-worker told me you were back here and said that you were due for lunch and I figured that we could chat. Since I’m here to pick up some stuff and Lenora is with Gregor today, and _you know who_ is at the bank.”

Sansa chokes on her coffee. “What?”

Walda tries not to snort, but then completely fails and snorts anyway. “Yeah, it’s a lucky thing that I just _happened_ to be by, and just _happened_ to know Sandor’s schedule, and just _happened_ to know exactly what to say to make tight-lipped Irene agree to let you go to lunch. Funny, I seem to recall there being a nice little café with a great view of the back.” Walda say with a proud smirk and a gleam to her eyes that scared Sansa a tiny bit.

Sansa stared at Walda, speechless, before jerking into action. She doesn’t even bother to pick up the books, just strides out from the back room and stalks towards the exit. Walda hurries after her, but Sansa doesn’t shorten her long strides. Time was of the essence. In no time at all, the two woman arrive at the café. Both flushed, heaving chests, coffees forgotten half a block back and sweat peppered across their temples. The host gives them both an odd look but says nothing as he leads them to a table outside, partially covered by a hedge bush.

Sansa sits facing the bank and orders a salad, not really giving the young waiter her attention. “So, who was the woman from the other night?” Now that the cat was out of the bag, Sansa didn’t bother with subtlety.

Walda pats her forehead dry with a napkin and grins. “No one important Sansa, apparently it was a longtime client that refused to do business with Bronn.”

Sansa hums and settling into her chair, determined to wait the man out.

Walda takes out her cell, seeing how Sansa’s attention was otherwise engaged, and starts a game of Words with Friends.

Sansa ignores Walda, the waiter, and her salad in favor of keeping her gaze on the bank. She can’t believe that after months of wondering what Sandor looked like that she’s finally get a chance to just _look_ at him. Her heart is beating fast with anticipation, hands clenched tightly and eyes stinging with the urge to blink.  Sansa can hear Walda call her name, is about to turn and look at her when suddenly the door is being pushed open and Sansa’s heart stops.

A man is pushing open the door. A man who stands tall with broad, impossibly wide, shoulders and thick muscled arms. A man with a wide powerful chest, a chest encased in a black simple shirt, which led down to an equally powerful waist and hips. A man with great thighs and dark denim pants. A man with dark hair pulled into a bun leaving his face bare for all the world to see.

A man with almost half his face in ruin. A man with heavy brows, a strong nose, a thick beard and a hard mouth. A man with only one eyebrow and a large portion of his forehead grooved with burn scars.

Sansa doesn’t quite flinch, but its close. She doesn’t dare breathe as she watches Sandor Clegane eat up the distance between the bank and his massive black truck within seconds. Sansa doesn’t even dare blink watching that massive powerful body in motion. It isn’t until the truck reverses out of the parking space and drives off that Sansa feels like she can finally breathe.

“Holy hell.” Sansa breathes out as her hands shake.

“Yeah,” Walda can’t help but comment, eyes taking in her friends flustered face, “that’s Sandor.” Right about now the reality of what Sandor looks like will most likely put out any interest that Red has. It’s sad, but to be expected. Sandor is a rough man with a face that would make a lesser person run for the hills. Not that Walda thinks low of Sansa, but Walda could smell the privilege on Red. Red came from money, the type of money that came from being old blood- of being a Stark. Walda knew all about the Great Houses of Westeros. Anyone who had the type of upbringing that she had, from a father that wanted to break into that circle, knew who the Starks of Winterfell were. Kings of Winter, Wardens of the North, the sole noble house that still stood to this day surviving throughout their nation’s bloody history. Walda didn’t know the particulars as to why Sansa of House Stark was all the way out here in West Keep, but she respected it. Whatever happened spooked the girl to go to ground, to a place that no one knew her. Maybe it was circumstance that made Red latch onto Sandor. The fascination and intrigue of Sandor’s mysterious life luring the woman in; but Walda knew that the highborn didn’t like ugly. They demanded to be surrounded by beauty, which made this kinder.

Better for Sansa to stop obsessing over Sandor, before Sandor found out and face the woman’s rejection in person.

Sansa’s mind was in a tailspin, ignorant of Walda’s thoughts and stoic expression. She knew, objectively, that Sandor’s face was damaged...but to see it in person was another thing entirely. His scars, they were bad no doubt about it. No one could sugar coat that. The degree of heat to cause that much tissue damage was too much for her to bear to think of. Gregor did that? Sansa gasped, “That poor man.”

Walda sighed, eating her salad.

Sansa ate without tasting, eyes lost in her thoughts. It wasn’t long before Walda was paying their bill and the two were walking back to the library.

“Thank you Walda, for everything.” Sansa said with a grin, eyes focused on the floor.

Walda’s lips twitched, “Yeah. Anytime.”

Sansa turned, not seeing Walda’s sad but accepting look. She was too busy thinking about Sandor’s powerful stride. About his displayed his scars and dared anyone to say something about it. Sansa couldn’t get the image out of her mind. How this man still stood strong, even after so much pain and suffering. Sansa had her own scars, buried deep in her soul, and they twinged at the sight of Sandors.

Yes, he wasn’t beautiful but Sansa knew that going in. Yet, even with his burns the strong characteristics shone through. The hard square jaw, the strong nose, the heavy brooding brow. His impressive physique, his strong gait. Everything about him screamed power and it made Sansa hungry for more.

 

* * *

 

**You’ll still help me?**

**...What are you talking about Red?**

**You know what I’m talking about Walda.**

**...Sandor? OMG you’re still on that? Even after seeing his face?**

**Yes, even after. Gods, to survive such brutality and be that strong to endure…**

**It’s impressive.**

**OMG**

**You’re a freak. I cannot believe this.**

**But...I can’t help but be glad you know? Sandor is a moody asshole…**

**But even he deserves a chance at happiness.**

**You really think I’m that chance.**

**Sansa, you’re the only chance that has come along. Besides…**

**There’s times when you get quiet, dark, solemn that scares me a bit.**

**You need this chance as much as Sandor, or at least that’s what my gut says.**

**...Thanks? So will you help me?**

**Idiot, that goes without saying. Operation Get into Sandor’s pants is a go!**

**Gods Walda, do we need to call it that? Or give it a name at all.**

**This is going to be so much fun!!**

**Gods be good.**

 

 

* * *

 

Sansa was finishing up a shirt for Gregor, the last one in her order that took her about two weeks to fill because of the amount of fabric that she had to order and measure, when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She ignored it until she finished checking over the garment, mindlessly pulling it out and looking at the screen.

**I have the target with me. Incoming to your house in ten minutes.**

Sansa stared dumbly at the screen, not understanding what in the hell Walda was talking about until the realization hit her like a brick to the face. “Holy hell!” Sansa wheezed through tight lungs, frantically looking at the time the message was sent and comparing it to the actual time. “Crap!” Sansa didn't have time to even freshen up the text came in nine minutes ago.

As if sensing her fear, the sound of an impossibly powerful engine roared down her street. Sansa looked up from her phone, neck whipping t the side to stare unseeingly at her front door. “I’m not ready!” Sansa yelled before looking down at herself.

She was on her monthly, feeling disgusting and crampy. Her face was oily, hair unbrushed and hastily pulled into a sloppy bun, baggy shirt and no bra. Faded yoga pants that didn't make her feel like she was wearing a diaper full of blood because she ran out of tampons and had been too lazy to go to the store to buy some. “Damn.”

Just as she moved to race to the bathroom to at least spray some perfume on, the monstrous truck of Sandor Clegane was pulling up into her driveway. Sansa stood gripping her cell phone like a lifeline as the shadow of the massive truck cast over her. She could hear the doors open and close and that lit a fire under her. She looked around and snatched up the numerous empty bags of potato chips and wine glasses and rushed to the kitchen. Dumping the glasses, gently, into the sink Sansa hurled the potato chip bags into her trash can.

The sound of someone knocking on her door had Sansa jumping, nerves on edge and heart beating fast. Licking her lips Sansa made her way to the door and took a steadying breath. She survived Joffrey, this was nothing compared to that hell. Grabbing her door knob, Sansa pulled it open and squinted with the sudden blast of sunlight aimed right at her eyes.

“Sansa,” Walda sung, eyes taking in the sight of the normally well-dressed woman in stretchy yoga pants and loose shirt, ushering herself and half-dragging the man accompanying her inside the house, “we’re here to pick-up Gregor’s clothes.” Walda spotted the pile of nicely folded shirts and walked towards it, leaving Sansa and her object of interest alone behind her. “Oh! They look beautiful!” They did in fact, expertly made that Walda wanted to rush back to the Keep so that Gregor could try them on. But Gregor would have to wait, for now there was another Clegane in need. “I don’t think you two have formally met.” Walda said casually, stifling the wide grin from her lips. “Sansa, this is Sandor Clegane. Sandor, this is Sansa Stark.” Walda introduced as she turned to look at them.

Sansa had moved back to allow them into her home, not taking her eyes off Sandor’s imposing figure as Walda began to talk a mile a minute. This close the scars were even more shocking. They were tinted pink, grooved and bumped over a face that belonged to the stories of old; where the people used to live and die by the sword. There was strength in that face. Strength, and also a great and terrible rage, that hid an even greater vulnerability that resonated deeply with Sansa. He had a face that was made from grit and hard truths. He wasn’t beautiful, but maybe because of that Sansa felt her heart skip a beat.

She stared at him, hearing Walda faintly as she introduced the man who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but inside her living room and being gawked at. Sansa knew it was rude to stare, but damn if she could stop herself. She finally, _finally_ , had him in front of her. It was taking every scrap of self-control that she had to keep her hand by her side instead of reaching out to touch him.

Sansa watched him, saw how he shifted his weight and how his dark eyes roamed around her home before coming back to look at her. Almost as if he couldn’t help himself. Sansa gave a slow smile, every inch of her burning with victory, and extended her hand. “Hello Sandor Clegane, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It didn’t matter to Sansa that she was standing before the man of her obsession dressed exactly how she rolled out of bed. What mattered that Walda, the amazing woman, had brought Sandor to her. What mattered was that Sandor was in front of her, a feast for her eyes to devour, looking right back at her.

What mattered was that Sandor Clegane was reaching out to clasp her hand, sending a burst of warmth racing from her palm to her chest and core, and shaking it firmly.

What mattered was that Sandor Clegane was looking at her, a questioning look in his dark eyes, and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Sansa Stark.”

Gods be good.


End file.
